Singer Meets Dancer
by miiikechang
Summary: Singer meets dancer, singer likes dancer, singer woos dancer. Dancer...doesn't know how to respond and kind of messes everything up. A series of vignettes about Mike and Blaine's budding relationship, set in an AU Season 3. Mike/Blaine slash.
1. You Belong With Me

**Author's Note: Re-uploading several of the earlier chapters since the original version got deleted because of…technicalities. All good though, I took it as an opportunity to go and have all of those chapters beta-ed, so you'll see some notable tweaking here and there. I wouldn't necessarily say that past readers should go back and re-read the chapters, since the plot development is mostly the same. If anything, there's just more development of characters, reorganization of certain parts, and overall more attention to details. That said, it's a shame I no longer have access to the old reviews to look back on…but I guess that just means you should leave plenty of new reviews! Cheers!**

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_Why am I still here?_ For the umpteenth time that month, Blaine pondered that question to himself. It was a valid question really, one that he had hoped to find an answer to before the end of the month. But if he couldn't come up with a good reason, then transferring back to Dalton mid-September would be no problem. It was still early in the semester after all.

For now, he tried to shake the thought from his head. As much as the question plagued him day and night, he would never allow himself to be distracted during one of his own performances. This time would be no different. Blaine stood in the center of the choir room, facing an audience composed entirely of the ladies of New Directions…plus Kurt, the honorary female. They all looked giddy and excited, as they always were when Blaine was performing his number for the week…except for Kurt who was feigning interest, though Blaine wasn't in the least bit surprised. Blaine let out a defeated sigh as he looked around him to make sure all the other boys were in place.

As Sam started strumming the first few notes of the song, Blaine found himself wondering again, _Why am I still here?_ There was literally _nothing_ keeping him here at McKinley, not after how he and Kurt had broke up earlier that month. And while he had found new friends in the members of New Directions, none of them could compare to the friends he had back at Dalton, both in terms of quality and quantity. _So why then, am I still here?_ Reluctantly, Blaine forced himself to push the thought aside as he started singing.

_You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset  
She's going off about something that you said  
She doesn't get your humor like I do_

He watched his spectators with steady eyes, noting how everyone seemed to be getting giddier by the minute. He could already see everyone on the edges of their seats, ready to jump up and dance at the right moment. He could also see how everyone was biting their lower lips, trying to restrain themselves from joining in on the chorus too early. Everyone except Kurt of course…and Santana too.  
"You _go_ Blaine, you _be _a home wrecker and steal some straight boy from his girlfriend!" said Santana sassily, smug about her own smart aleck comment. Blaine couldn't help but smirk at the irony of it as he shot a quick glance at Brittany and Artie, before he continued singing.

_I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night  
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like  
And she'll never know your story like I do_

Blaine turned about nonchalantly as he sang, swaying in his steps as he crooned ever so coolly. Part of it was just for choreography. The other part was to make sure the guys, especially the new kid Rory, weren't fucking up. Thankfully, Rory seemed to be handling both dancing and back-up vocals fairly well. Blaine glanced gratefully over at Mike; if it weren't for Mike's patience and his devotion to 'dance boot camp,' Rory probably would've been a complete mess right now. Hell if it weren't for Mike, Blaine doubted that he himself could have ever gotten beyond 'waddle-dancing.' It was an amusing thought, recalling how dry Dalton's dance routines were. So amusing, that Blaine lost track of how long he had been glancing (or now staring) at Mike. And somewhere in between the sharp steps of his own dancing, Mike had happened to return Blaine's glance.

_But she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts  
She's cheer captain and I'm just a gay kid  
Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find  
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time_

Blaine almost stumbled through the words and through the steps as he hastily turned away to avert his gaze. He was sure Mike had caught him staring, which was awkward enough already, but he also could've sworn that…Mike had winked at him? Blaine considered it for the briefest of seconds, before turning his attention back to the chorus.

_If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  
Been here all along so why can't you see?  
You belong with me  
You belong with me_

The girls squealed aloud and finally began singing along, much to Blaine's satisfaction. He loved rousing the group with a fun sing-a-long, and Taylor Swift was the perfect epitome of this. But try as he might to mean every word he was singing, Blaine couldn't help but feel bitter. Bitter, because it was just a month ago that he and Kurt were claiming to understand one another, claiming to have been there for one another, claiming to belong with one another. Now that none of that held true, how was he supposed to go about taking all that back?

_Walkin' the streets with you in your skinny jeans  
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be  
Chillin' on the bleachers thinkin' to myself  
Hey isn't this easy?_

Truth be told, it was never easy for him and Kurt. It was always a struggle to make things work between them, right down to conversation leading up to their break-up.  
"…And that's why we can't work it out," Blaine had said somberly, his gaze transfixed on the floor.  
Kurt waited a full minute before speaking. "Can't? Or won't?"  
"I mean either or, it doesn't really make a difference…"  
"But it does. Maybe it's more a case of _you_ won't," Kurt had said spitefully. "Because I don't see a whole lot of trying on your part."  
"Now that's just not true," said Blaine in an even tone, trying his best not to let his guilt betray his voice.  
"Is it hm? Is it really?" Kurt asked rhetorically as he dropped Blaine's 'apology chocolates' to the floor.  
"Oh is that what you want?" Blaine asked semi-indignantly as Kurt started walking away.  
Kurt didn't even look back as he answered resentfully. "Yeeeup!"  
"…W–well that's how you get ants!" Blaine smacked his forehead with an open palm. That was literally the _only_ retort he could come up with.  
"Yayyy…"

_And you've got a six-pack, the best one in this town  
I haven't seen it in a while, cause you seem run-down  
You say you fine, I know you better than that  
__That girl won't give you time to burn that fat_

Everyone laughed at the words, just as Blaine had hoped. He loved messing with the lyrics, and it always helped when people actually enjoyed it. Still, the laughter offered only a brief reprieve from his angst; nothing could get his mind off the fact that he and Kurt were no longer together. They were over, done for, completely finished. And thus, was how Blaine had given up the _only_ reason why he came to McKinley. So the question persisted: if there was no more Kurt, and if none of the other glee guys came close to swinging his way, why was he _still _there?

_She wears high heels, I wear bowties  
She's cheer captain and I'm just a gay kid  
Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find  
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time_

There had to be a reason why he was still at McKinley. There had to be a reason why he felt no inclination to return to his previous school. There had to be a reason for his content with staying exactly where he was and doing what he did, day after day despite the foreboding presence of his ex. But maybe he was thinking about it all wrong. Maybe it was better to be asking why he didn't care enough to go back to Dalton _immediately_. Maybe it was better to be asking why he _still_ felt at ease performing with New Directions, in spite of his ex. Or maybe, it was better to just stop worrying and questioning altogether and just be satisfied with what he had right then and there. After all, he didn't want to become the tragic story of a man who thought too much about everything, who was too consumed in his thoughts to be able to appreciate the here and now.

_Oh I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night  
I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry  
I know your favorite songs and you tell me about your dreams  
Think I know where you belong, think I know it's with me_

Blaine took his time to survey the choir room as he sang the bridge. He looked over each trophy in the choir room, both big and small. He examined the pictures hanging from the walls, observing how the group had grown and changed over the years. Finally, he mentally scanned the halls of McKinley, mapping out each and every corner of the campus in his brain. He did all this, because he rejected the notion of not having a reason to stay at McKinley. Moreover, he was never one to take what he had for granted. There _must_ be some reason keeping him right where he was, and he _needed _to know what it was. It was just his nature, and to deny it would keep his mind in a state of limbo.

_Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?  
Been here all along so why can't you see  
You belong with me?_

By this point, Mike and Rory had finished dancing and were rubbing up against Blaine, trapping him in a human sandwich. Blaine chuckled as he looked at the both of them: Rory, grinning brightly with a glint of delight in his eyes; and Mike, smiling coyly as he once again winked at Blaine. In the next few seconds, before the instruments picked up again, Blaine took the time to observe each of the faces of the room. Varied as they were, there was one constant between them all: the faces showed genuine from the pure and utter enjoyment of the music, of the miracle that was happening in the room. He'd seen that look many a time before, perhaps with his fellow Warblers back at Dalton, but for some reason it meant _more _seeing it from the kids of New Directions.

_Standing by you waiting at your back door  
All this time how could you not know baby  
You belong with me  
You belong with me_

Blaine could feel his voice getting stronger as he approached the final lines. He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt like he actually _meant_ the words right now. _That's how it should be_, he thought to himself as he started dancing again. Out of nowhere, he felt a hand grab his own and pull him over. Startled at first, Blaine quickly calmed down when he realized that it was just Mike. The taller held up a clenched fist in between the two of them, as if gripping and sharing an imaginary microphone, and pretended to sing into it. Blaine, not hesitating in the least, gladly joined in.

For some reason, unbeknownst and almost incomprehensible to Blaine, Mike kept looking right _at _him as they continued to sing. Not looking past him or through him, but actually looking right at him, directly into his eyes. He wasn't sure who realized it first, how embarrassing it was for the both of them to be staring so intently at other, but they eventually broke off eye contact. Nevertheless, Blaine couldn't help but grin goofily as he managed to finish the song strong.

_You belong with me  
Have you ever thought just maybe  
You belong with me?  
You belong with me_

Mike shot Blaine a quick wink as the song died out. Blaine smiled awkwardly back, mouth half open as if in awe. He had no idea what was up with Mike and all the winking, but he wasn't about to protest. Especially because the rest of the group had rapidly descended upon Blaine to do their post-performance ritual: pats on the back, compliments and congratulations, or the occasional hug. Blaine received them warmly and slowly began to understand how each gesture was but a gentle reminder, a possible validation of why he was _still_ at McKinley. And surprisingly, he was actually content with that sort of explanation.

Mike was the last to approach him, and it was only after the rest had started to exit the classroom.  
"Great song choice Blaine, I definitely like how you tweaked the lyrics." Mike walked up to him with an outstretched arm as if to give Blaine a hug. Blaine cocked his right eyebrow slightly. It wasn't that Mike and him didn't get along. But it wasn't like they were on hugging terms either. In fact, he wasn't sure what to make of Mike's excessive winking either. It definitely wasn't something Mike had been doing before though. But as Gay Bro Code dictates, one must never decline a hug when offered one (on friendly terms) and so Blaine thought nothing of it as he extended his own arms to hug Mike back.  
"Thanks bro, and I couldn't have done it without you," said Blaine genuinely, so as to foster more confidence in Mike's budding abilities as a singer.

There was an awkward silence as the two hugged. There was also an awkward lump between Blaine's chest and, what he assumed, was Mike's lower torso. Given their height difference, that wasn't too far off an estimate either. Mike didn't say anything as Blaine closed his eyes and slowly turned his face downwards to see what hard object was in between the two of them. He was pretty sure that bulge didn't belong to him, so it must've belonged to Mike. Repeat: that _very_ hard bulge must've belonged to Mike. Blaine's face reddened at the un-dapper realization of what it could possibly mean about Mike. After all, Blaine had always had his suspicions about Mike, especially since there's always been an undeniable and significant percentage of gay Asian dancers. Given that correlation, this could've just been Mike's very obvious, very inappropriate, but very sexy way of saying 'Hey there, I'm gay too.' Blaine had to quell his inner desire to respond accordingly with his own 'How do you do, I came out just to greet you' since he had a feeling that spontaneous dry-humping wouldn't end well. But how else was Blaine supposed to react? Give in to this sudden and unforeseen attraction like some scene straight out of a cheap porno? Or perhaps insist upon taking it slow? He could just adamantly deny Mike, since anything less might make him seem too easy…but what good would come of denying someone who could potentially reciprocate his feelings? But that begged the question of whether there were feelings in the first place! Maybe he should just hit it, quit it, and go back to Dalton! Or, God forbid, Mike just wanted him as a friend with benefits? If that was so, then maybe…

"Wrong hug dude," said Mike with a relaxed chuckle. As Blaine slowly opened his eyes, he began to register that it was no man lump rubbing up against his abdomen; it was just Mike's outstretched hand. The kind of outstretched hand that one bro offers to another, so that the other bro might clasp onto it as they embrace in a slightly awkward one-armed hug with their other free arm. So whereas Mike had gone in to hug Blaine with one of his arms, Blaine had latched himself onto Mike's body with _both_ his arms. And of course Mike would do the bro hug…he was straight after all. Blaine wasn't sure what had possessed him to even think, or hope, otherwise.

Blaine had embarrassed himself plenty of times before, but this one oddly seemed to be more discomforting than usual. So discomforting, that he instantaneously decided that he would transfer back to Dalton effective the next day. Without making eye contact, Blaine let go of his hug, muttered an incoherent farewell, and rushed towards the exit. He would've escaped too, before Mike even had a chance to react, had he not forgotten his bag. Cursing himself for making it even more awkward than he thought possible, Blaine shuffled back into the room, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and made a go for the exit once more. But just before he could exit, Mike called out to him.  
"Hey Blaine!"  
"Y-yeah?" His voice came out with a squeak, darkening the blush on his face even further.  
"You do know you belong here right? With me?" Mike asked with a gentle smile on his face.  
"…What?" It was all Blaine could ask, for lack of a better question. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if Mike had somehow read his mind and was now mocking him openly.  
"You know, just like in the song…you belong with me? Might be more appropriate to say you belong with _us _though. Us being…New Directions. Here. At McKinley." It was Mike's turn to sound awkward, and had Blaine noticed he might've felt more at ease. Instead, he took his time registering what Mike had just said to him.  
"But I mean, take the lyrics as you will. Belong with us, belong with me, no biggie," said Mike as he casually winked at Blaine one last time before walking out of the choir room.

Blaine retreated into the hallway once his rampant blushing finally receded. It gave him time to think a little, and recognize that he could and would stay at McKinley. If not for the chance to perform as a part of a very impressive team, then for the sake of the people he had come to know and love here. These were the people who cared for him after all, who supported him as best they could and brought out the best in him. Sure, not everyone in the club was perfectly receptive of him quite yet (which reminded him that he'd have to make amends with Kurt someday soon), but he there people he could count on to be there for him. People like Mike, for instance. After all was said and done though, Blaine couldn't forget the multiple winks Mike had thrown his way all afternoon, nor could he brush the lingering idea that the taller boy had given him a particularly tight hug (even if it was one-armed). He casually tried to dismiss the latter notion, attributing it to nothing more than Mike's amazing biceps and triceps at work.

That didn't stop him from smiling all afternoon though.


	2. Black and Gold

**Song used in this chapter: Sam Sparro – Black and Gold. Definitely worth it to check out the music video on YouTube. The tuxes looked spiffy, the footwork was smooth yet crisp, and the backdrop was simply hypnotic.**

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Blaine looked down at himself and sighed. He was always a little bummed out when he looked at his body. But it wasn't that he was flabby in any way or even remotely out of shape. In fact, he'd even consider his muscles pretty toned, thanks in large part to working out consistently and taking up boxing as an extracurricular. He flexed his abdomen a little and watched with satisfaction as his core tightened up. Then, as if to ascertain whether these abs were indeed muscle and not packets of misshapen fat, he ran his fingers along each one so that he could feel how defined they were. It'd be a while yet before he'd have the perfect figure he so desired, but daily progress checks like this were enough to convince himself that he was making good progress on his soon-to-be six-pack. He finally exhaled deeply, allowing his core muscles to relax and return to their normal resting state. No, he definitely wasn't disappointed with his body in the muscular sense. What dismayed him…was how hairy he was.

Blaine had a habit of getting philosophical when he was left alone with his thoughts for too long. This morning was no different, and before he realized it, he had begun contemplating evolution. Specifically, he wanted to know why humans hadn't yet evolved to the point where body hair was obsolete. One would that at some point, the human genome would suddenly realize all that excess hair was not only unnecessary, it was _burdensome_. At least the female gene pool was doing it right; they didn't have chest/breast hair to worry about, nor did they have little stubbles growing out of their crack (the pooper crack, not the pisser). Why couldn't males genes just catch up already? He had always heard about how women developed faster than men, but for this trend to hold true in evolutionary processes and patterns of genetics? He was starting to think the Y chromosome was a god forsaken liability.

Then again, it wasn't like Blaine was atrociously hairy. To be fair, his body hair was akin to very soft peach fuzz, and was no longer than half an inch at most. Still, it was more noticeable than he'd have liked it to be. Especially along his chest, his abdomen, his "happy trail", and all the way down under… Speaking of which, Blaine stretched out his boxer briefs to see how just how untamed and unruly his pubes were this particular morning. He let out a long sigh as he let the waistband snap back onto his body. Blaine was convinced he was suffering from some kind of curse; how else can one explain why pubes grow back so damn fast? He had _just_ shaved there last week too! Blaine shook his head in annoyance as he headed to his bathroom with his electric shaver.

He decided to contemplate his insecurity as he set his trimmer into motion. Blaine wasn't exactly sure why he felt insecure about his hairiness, since he knew it really shouldn't have been a big deal at all. For one thing, such a shallow and superficial insecurity contrasted glaringly against the rest of his confident persona. Secondly, it wasn't like he was dating anyone anymore, so he had no real reason to even worry about 'maintenance.' And even when he was with Kurt, they had never gotten past kissing so what reason was there to keep his body hair well groomed? Blaine turned off his trimmer and began to inspect his work 'downstairs.' After three shakes (anymore would be considered 'playing'…and he only 'played' at night) to get rid of stray hairs, he gave himself an approving nod. All he had to do now was shower and use copious amounts of conditioner, and he'd be itch-free for the day.

Unfortunately, his lingering thoughts proved to be 'itchier' than his pubic hair. What had started off as a little worry in the back of his head had developed into a strange obsession over the course of the school day. He couldn't even explain what had caused this sudden onset of anxiety, let alone find a way to deflate it. All he could think of was how his interpretation of 'slightly hairy' might be construed as _extremely_ so by others. It got to the point where he had convinced himself that he needed to order a waxing kit and/or depilatories (those creams that would make hair 'disintegrate') as soon as possible. He was so entranced in looking up hair removal products on his iPhone, that he hardly even noticed a lone figure following him into the choir room.  
"You ready for this Blaine?" Blaine flinched reflexively, fumbling and almost dropping his phone as he spun around to see who was talking to him. There stood Mike, holding up two garment bags containing the tuxedos they'd be wearing for their performance today.  
"D–definitely!" Blaine hated how he always seemed to squeak nowadays. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "You know we've got this down, we've been practicing all week." He took the shorter garment bag from Mike and began pulling out the contents.  
"You mean _you've_ got it down. I'm only doing this because _you_ asked me to," said Mike as he grinned reassuringly. He unzipped his own garment bag as well and started inspecting the various articles of clothing inside.  
"You're making it sound like you don't want to do this anymore…" Blaine's voice trailed off as he tried to inconspicuously watch Mike take off his shirt.

Blaine felt his mouth drop open as he gasped quietly. He had always known Mike was athletic and fit, but what he saw before him now was simply breathtaking. If his brain hadn't been working, and if he had no shame, he probably would have popped out his iPhone to take a picture. Thankfully, he had enough tact to resist such a move, but not enough willpower to stop staring. As he kept looking (inconspicuously of course), he felt his mind wander in two different directions. On one hand, it completely boggled Blaine's mind how any man's body could reach such a state of near perfection. On the other, it filled Blaine with an insatiable longing. Mike's lean, toned, and most importantly _hairless_ body was everything he ever wanted, if not for his own body, then at least to touch, to hold, to…  
"Seriously…" Blaine muttered aloud, in reference to whether the flawlessly sculpted body standing before him was seriously real or not.  
"Seriously what?" Mike asked as he turned to face Blaine, snapping him out of his reverie.  
"Y–you've seriously improved this past week! Trust me, I can tell."  
Mike grinned in appreciation. "That's not what I meant, but thanks! I'm just saying you could've rocked this song on your own, you didn't need to turn it into a duet." Blaine tried to respond, but was too busy pretending not to admire Mike's body.  
"Aren't you going to change?" Mike asked as he dropped his pants in one smooth swoop. If Blaine hadn't been obvious about his wandering eyes earlier, he was making it completely evident now. Blaine felt his eyes bulge open when he saw Mike standing in just his boxer briefs. _Tight_ boxer briefs at that. He mentally cursed Mike for wearing black, and not a more revealing color like white.  
"Y–yeah of course," Blaine mumbled nervously as he finally pried his eyes off of his unsuspecting eye candy. His conscience was beginning to settle in, as he felt incredibly guilty for eye-raping his fellow glee clubber. But just when he regained enough composure to begin taking off his shirt to change, Blaine suddenly stopped.  
By this point, Mike already had his dress shirt on. "We're going to be late you know," said Mike warningly as he pulled on his tuxedo pants.  
"My bad, let me just–" Blaine looked around the room for someplace private to change. His self-consciousness was making a comeback, and though he knew Mike probably saw hairier guys in the locker room, he couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable about showing off any part of his body after all his thinking today. Then again Mike wouldn't care about how hairy _any_ _guy_ was in the first place, since he didn't swing that way, but just to be sure…Blaine decided he would change while leaning against the piano, with his back facing Mike so his front wasn't exposed.

His plan worked for less than thirty seconds. Before Blaine could even finish buttoning his dress shirt, Mike had pranced around the piano to face Blaine.  
"Hey can you do my bowtie? Mine are always lopsided for some reason." The untied bowtie hung loosely from around Mike's neck. Blaine stared blankly for a second, before chuckling a little.  
"Yeah I got it. I've actually noticed the crookedness before, and I've been meaning to tell you–"  
"And tell me what? That I look like a hipster noob?" asked Mike jokingly as he puffed out his chest to make it easier for Blaine to tie the bow.  
"Don't need to. Everyone can already see the evidence." Mike feigned an offended gasp, causing Blaine to smirk a little as his fingers continued to work quickly and deftly. As he went through the motions of the knot, he could sense Mike looking down at him, most likely at his still exposed chest hair.  
Blaine sighed as he finally mustered the confidence the talk about it. "You didn't think a little guy like me could be this hairy huh."  
"Ehhh, it's whatever," Mike said indifferently. But as disinterested as he may have sounded, Mike continued to look down at him.  
"Just whatever?" Blaine asked as he urged his fingers to move faster. "I don't know about that, I seem to be quite a bit hairier than you."  
"Hairier than an Asian? That's one amazing feat." Blaine could hear the joking sarcasm in Mike's voice, and mentally thanked him for trying to make him feel better. Too bad the only thing that'd make him feel better was if Mike would stop looking down at his chest hair.  
"You seem to be astonished by it though, judging from the way you're studying it so intently." Blaine could feel his anxiety setting on as his fingers faltered on the final loop.  
"I'm not though," said Mike lamely.  
"Oh really? Then what would you call what you're looking at right now?" Blaine asked tersely as he finished tying the bowtie.  
"…I'd call it a well-tied bowtie." Mike cheerfully smirked as he tugged on the two ends of his bowtie. Despite Blaine's slightly aggravated state, he had still managed to make the perfect knot. "And I honestly wasn't looking at your chest at all. I was just trying to watch and memorize how you tie your knots." With that, Mike sauntered away, leaving Blaine to nurse his growing blush. _Why do I always feel like transferring back to Dalton after talking to him?  
_"But you know," Mike called out as he threw on his jacket and donned his hat. "Some people find chest hair pretty manly, sexy even." A bit thrown off by the comment, Blaine turned to see if Mike was joking with him or not. But all he saw was a glimpse of a teasing wink as the taller boy quickly disappeared around the corner.

Blaine finished dressing promptly and rushed over to the auditorium, where he found Mike waiting backstage. After a quick nod of acknowledgment, Blaine took one of the prop canes from Mike and stepped out onto the stage. Mike followed after, slowly spinning his own cane to match their leisurely stride. The pair strolled to the center of the stage and bowed deeply, making sure to properly tip their top hats like the gentlemen that they were.  
"Alright boys! Looking quite dapper if I do say so myself!" Mr. Schuester was clapping and cheering encouragingly from his usual spot behind his desk in the middle of the auditorium. "So what are you two performing today?"  
"Just a little side project," said Blaine coolly. "A duet actually, to show off both of our singing and dancing chops."  
"Very nice, and a very interesting choice for a duet partner too! I'm especially excited to see what you've got planned Mike."  
"Well, hope I don't disappoint," Mike responded hesitantly. Blaine could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and anxiously glanced over at Mike. The dancer hadn't shown any nerves all week during any of their practices, but he now seemed a bit edgy, restless almost. He couldn't blame the boy though; this was Mike's first _real_ duet, if Blaine recalled correctly.  
"Oh I'm sure you won't. Let's hear it then!"

_If the fish swam out of the ocean  
And grew legs and they started walking  
And the apes climbed down from the trees  
And grew tall and they started talking_

Blaine sang the first verse while standing back to back with his partner. Deep beats reverberated throughout the auditorium, filling their heads with a strong and repetitive rhythm. Mike tapped his feet along to the bass beats as Blaine drummed his cane on the floor at the same pace. The two of them did a sharp 90° pivot and strode forward jauntily as Blaine continued to sing. But as he tried to sing with all his conviction, his mind kept drifting back to his insecurity and had actually taken a turn for the _worse_. Whereas previously, he was just obsessing over how hairy he was, he now felt agitated by how such a pointless issue like hairiness could even bother him in the first place (if that made any sense). _Why do I even feel remotely ashamed of my hair? I should be comfortable with who I am after all. _

_And the stars fell out of the sky  
And the tears rolled into the ocean  
And now I'm looking for a reason why  
You even set my world into motion_

They performed a quick, full-circle spin as Mike parted his lips and sang. The two of them stood at the edge of the stage, legs shoulder-width apart, stamping their canes to the tempo of the song as Mike projected his deeper voice. Blaine decided that he would take advantage of this brief reprieve in singing and examine himself more deeply so as to figure out why he was so upset. He refused to take his insecurities at face value, since he figured that there was always an underlying reason to them. Once he found that underlying reason, he could properly rationalize it out and finally put his worries to rest. And so he treated his problem with hairiness like every other insecurity he'd put down before. He dug through his recent thoughts, scoured his old ponderings, tried to recall off-handed remarks made by this person or that, all in the hopes of finding some significant detail that would explain his displeasure with himself.

_Cause if you're not really here  
Then the stars don't even matter  
Now I'm filled to the top with fear  
But it's all just a bunch of matter_

_Cause if you're not really here_  
_Then I don't want to be either_  
_I wanna be next to you_  
_Black and gold, black and gold, black and gold_

As Blaine paused his train of thought momentarily in order to sing the chorus, he was taken aback at how well Mike's voice blended with his. Granted, it was Blaine who was doing the more challenging task of harmonizing, but Mike's deep and cool voice really was just perfect for this song. It was surprising Blaine hadn't noticed it before during their practices, but he supposed it was because Mike had been drilling him so hard on the choreography that he didn't have a chance to notice the other boy's voice. And sure enough, the two of them continued through their fancy footwork, full of toe stands, shoulder slides, and strutting back and forth while flicking their canes all around. Right on cue, Blaine did a quick spin and ended in a slight lunge to his side before taking off his top hat and casting it aside.

_I look up into the night sky  
And see a thousand eyes staring back  
And all around these golden beacons  
I see nothing but black_

The yellowish-golden stage lights were darting back and forth across the stage, as if to accentuate the pitch blackness around the two performers. Eventually, the lights all converged on Mike as he took his own top hat and threw it like a Frisbee to Mr. Schuester. Blaine twirled to the side of the stage, where he could admire Mike's dancing and singing. For a moment, watching the older boy perform in all his radiance seemed to take Blaine's mind off of what had been plaguing him all day.

_I feel a way of something beyond them  
I don't see what I can feel  
If vision is the only validation  
Then most of my life isn't real_

The two met back to back again as they started singing the chorus. They dropped their canes as they started snapping their fingers to the rhythm, all the while taking large and relaxed strides towards the front of the stage. With each step their snaps got louder, and with each sway they swaggered just a little bit further. The frenzied crescendo of their voices and their stepping and their snapping got louder and louder _and_ _louder_…until it all finally snapped into place. In a moment of enlightenment, Blaine experienced the long-desired epiphany that would help him realize why something so pointless as excessive hair was causing him excessive agitation.

And it all came down to him being gay. It was because he was gay and that already inherently limited his selection of dateable people to the small percentage of males who also happened to be gay. It was because he was gay and the kind of guys he liked, the smooth and hairless 'twinks,' generally did _not_ like hairiness even if it was only slightly so. It was because he was gay, and more than anything else in the world, he feared ending up _alone_. Alone, because of something so stupid, so meaningless, so completely arbitrary…like hair. The realization struck him hard and struck him fast, and for a moment, struck Blaine incapable of remembering the next few dance steps.

So Blaine improvised. As if retaliating against his insecurity, against the perceived injustice of the gay mentality, Blaine danced to the chorus more fervently than he had before. The whole time he could sense Mike's eyes on him, and knew that Mike was picking up on the change in his mood (not to mention the drastic change to their dance routine). But Blaine didn't care. The song was ending soon and he wanted to take advantage of the hypnotic rhythm and spellbinding beats to just…dance out his frustration. Mike watched intently, bemused more than anything else, and enjoyed the dancing spectacle before him. Not one to be outshined in dancing, Mike finally decided to jump forward and grab Blaine's hand. He tightened his grasp as he pulled Blaine towards him, before spinning him out like a human whip. Finally, in one last dramatic display of their dancing expertise, they used the tip of their shoes to kick their discarded canes into the air. In perfect sync with one another and the final note of the song, they reached out and caught the cane as it came falling back down, and proceeded directly into a deep and graceful bow.

There was a long and eerie silence, interrupted only by the sounds of the two boys panting heavily. They made no effort to look at each other, and instead kept their gaze transfixed on the black floor beneath them.  
"That…was incredible! Visually stunning and completely entranced my ears. You two boys have really outdone yourselves with this one, especially you Mike!" Mr. Schuester was standing from behind his desk and applauding them vigorously, throwing in the occasional high pitched whistle for good measure. The two of them finally looked up to meet his approving gaze, and could see the genuine awe in his eyes. Mike broke into his characteristic smile, face crinkled with glee and eyes tightened to a slit. Blaine just grinned weakly as he sighed in relief.

"That was…pretty intense out there. Got you all sweaty huh?" asked Mike as he took off his pants. They were back in the choir room and changing, but Blaine felt too tired to indulge in stealing glances of Mike's amazing figure.  
"Yes Michael, getting sweaty is certainly one of the _many _perks of being abnormally hairy," said Blaine sarcastically as he unbuttoned his own shirt.  
Mike flinched a little at hearing his full name being used. "It's Mike, not Michael. Sounds too serious…" "My bad Mike. It's just…I guess I'm just a little–"  
"Worked up, I know. I could tell from the way you were dancing…and that snide little remark right earlier," teased Mike, as if to assure Blaine he wasn't offended. Blaine let out a ragged sigh in response. He knew Mike hadn't signed on to hear him rant, but if he didn't get it out now, he'd explode from the angst.  
"It's just…my hair you know? Being gay already makes it pretty hard to find someone. Add to that being hairy? That's a double-kill."  
"I don't see why it should matter," said Mike resolutely as he slipped back into his skinny jeans.  
Blaine walked across the room shirtless to retrieve his clothes, not caring if Mike saw anymore. "How so?" Blaine asked simply.  
"Well…you just don't seem like the type of guy who'd settle for someone so shallow as to consider hairiness a deal-breaker." Mike gave him a knowing look as he slid on a simple v-neck. "That and, I'm pretty sure what you've got there is just peach fuzz. You got nothing to be worrying about."  
"Thanks Mike," said Blaine as he allowed himself to chuckle for the first time that day. It surprised him that Mike could affect and _reverse_ his mood this much, that fast. "I didn't know you regarded me so highly, even if you're just saying all that to be nice."  
"No I'm serious! You can't even call that hairy until you've seen the bush _I'm_ working with." Blaine practically scoffed aloud at Mike's comment. Leave it to a straight boy to make inappropriately gay remarks.  
But something in the back of Blaine's mind goaded him to indulge in the conversation. "I was talking about body hair in general, but do feel free to share your misfortune," he said lightheartedly.  
"Well I mean I've just never shaved or trimmed down there. Afraid I'll cut myself, or worse…decapitate my second head!" Mike shuddered at the thought as Blaine legitimately laughed out loud.  
"It's actually not that scary if you use an electric shaver. Only problem is, once you start, you _can't_ stop. It just keeps growing back."  
"Oh I know, that was my other issue with it. And when it grows back, it grows back _hairier_ right?"  
"Definitely! Don't get me started on how itchy it is too…"

Blaine was genuinely enjoying the casual yet crass nature of his conversation with Mike. Granted, it was absolutely peculiar that he was connecting with the upperclassman over pubic hair…but for some reason, Blaine didn't mind. In fact, he appreciated it. Mike had unintentionally helped Blaine quell his inner apprehensions (for a _second_ time now), and for that he could only be grateful. But before Blaine could even express his gratitude, a voice called out to them from the back of the room.  
"Lord Tubbington is definitely hairier than _both_ of you."

Mike and Blaine stopped dead in their tracks. They slowly turned around to face the unexpected voice that had spoken to them. There sitting in a dark corner of the choir room was none other than Brittany.  
"Brittany," Blaine started as he tried to think of an appropriate way of phrasing his question. "How long have you been sitting there? And listening?"  
"The whole time." Brittany may have looked completely dazed, but they knew she wasn't joking. Mike started chuckling under his breath.  
"Why didn't you say anything? No wait, why are you even here?" asked Blaine as he started chuckling too. He wasn't mad at all actually, just relieved that it was Brittany and not someone else.  
"ESPN-age," explained Brittany calmly. "Stripping is now a professional sport, so I was watching you two and now I'm reporting it all back to ESPN." The two boys had no idea what she was talking about, but didn't really need to listen to the rest of her story to know that it would be about even more absurd. They just laughed as they each offered her an arm and walked out of the room together.

Unfortunately, neither of the boys realized how similar-sounding 'ESPN-age' and 'espionage' are. And unfortunately, neither of the boys happened to notice a very smug Santana observing them from a safe distance.


	3. Modern Chemistry

**Song used in this chapter: Motion City Soundtrack – Modern Chemistry. As always, worth a search on YouTube. I'm a particular fan of their acoustic rendition of this song.**

* * *

Mike was breathing hard. He looked around him to try and orient himself, but the area he was in seemed unfamiliar, foreign. There were no distinguishing landmarks to recognize; it was barren and bleak everywhere he looked. Even looking skyward for a trace of key stars proved fruitless; the entire horizon was empty and gray. Never before had he seen such a vast expanse of land so devoid of life, and never before had he felt so alone, so vulnerable.  
"There you are Michael." Mike turned around to face the ominous, but familiar voice. Half-expecting it to be some notorious bully like David Karofsky, he was a bit surprised to see that it Kurt standing behind him, dressed in all black no less. Black trench coat, black pants, black boots, black gloves, black everything. He was literally covered in black from head to toe, and it served to accentuate the paleness of his skin.  
"Kurt, where are we?" Mike asked in a steady tone. He didn't want to show any signs of how uneasy he felt, and so did his best to mask the caution in voice. Kurt smirked as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and began to walk towards Mike.  
"Does it matter?" Mike wasn't quite sure why, but he seemed to detect a bit of spite in Kurt's voice.  
"Well it's kind of weird that we're out in the middle of wherever this is," said Mike as he tried to diffuse the sudden tension. "…And it's just the two of us too." Mike mulled over the thought as he quickly and mentally noted how the two of them never hung out together without other glee members present. In fact, he even doubted if they had ever had a conversation that was strictly just the two of them. They had literally never interacted like this before. Ever. Not even once in their three years of knowing each other.  
"There's always a first time," said Kurt, as if he had been reading Mike's mind the whole time. Mike opened his mouth to ask the other boy another question, but instantly shut his lips when he saw Kurt drawing razor-sharp sais from his pocket. He eyed Kurt questioningly, as the pale boy began to expertly twirl what looked like hand-held tridents in his hands.  
"I'll save you the trouble, and make this the last time as well." Without warning, Kurt began running full-speed at Mike with his weapons bared.

Mike had no time to comprehend what was going on. As Kurt began stabbing at him with the prongs of his deadly sais, Mike instinctively fell back on his ninja instincts to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge.  
"Stand still you coward!" screamed Kurt as he came perilously close to skewering Mike's right shoulder.  
"What the FUCK Kurt!" Mike shouted back as he narrowly evaded another slash. All of his instincts told him to run, that he couldn't handle Kurt in this state, and so Mike started running away as fast as he could. But Kurt was quick in his pursuit, and much faster than Mike would have ever guessed.  
"You stole Blaine from me!" cried Kurt in a shrill voice.  
Mike had a feeling it was useless to ask questions at this point, but he couldn't help it. "Wait, I stole _what_?"  
"It's ok Mike, we don't have to pretend any longer!" Mike wasn't sure why the addition of another random voice surprised him, given the random predicament he was already in, but he flinched all the same as he desperately looked around to find the origin the new voice. Off in the distance stood a figure that was undeniably Blaine, beckoning Mike to run in his direction. "Kurt knows the truth already, just admit that you stole me from him!"  
"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't even know what's going on, where we are, why he's chase–"  
"I'm tired of living a lie Mike! Let's just do us and not care what anyone else thinks!"  
"What are you smoking?" Mike would have said more, but in the split second that he had been distracted, Kurt had caught up to him and was swinging his blades about in a rapid frenzy. Mike all but somersaulted to narrowly evade a slash.  
"Mike!" Blaine gasped aloud as he watched in horror. Mike ignored Blaine as he started jumping and ducking to the dangerous dance he was caught in.  
"MIKE!" yelled Blaine as he trembled with fear, though again Mike was forced to ignore him as he parried a particularly close swipe.  
Blaine inhaled deeply. "MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII–"  
"WHAT?" Mike finally screamed back out of exasperation. "What could you possibly need to tell–"  
"You're in the…DANGER ZONE!" sang Blaine in a voice that rivaled Kenny Loggins' original version of the song. Mike wasn't sure whether he should cry or scream from the absurdity of it all. He didn't have long to dwell on it though, as Blaine continued to get more illogical by the second.  
"Your sword Mike! Use your sword to fight back!" Blaine yelled as he pointed to his crotch.  
"What are you…I can't even…I'm so confused!" Short intermittent phrases were all Mike could muster, since nothing seemed to make sense anymore.  
"Just look into your pants Mike! Courageee!" Blaine yelled as he once more made obscene gestures towards his groin. Mike didn't know what to think anymore, or if he was even thinking in the first place. But against all things rational, Mike decided to do as Blaine instructed him and reach into his pants. He fumbled around his nether region until sure enough, he felt the sturdy hilt of a blade. And not a moment too soon, since Kurt's attacks were becoming more precise and precarious.  
"Draw your sword and fight me you coward!" Kurt proclaimed as he charged forward.  
"Courageee!" yelled Blaine as he continued to provocatively rub his crotch.  
"Why do I even have a sword inside my pants?" But at that point, Mike knew he could hesitate no longer. The time for questions was long over (then again, none of his questions had been answered in the first place). Firmly grasping the hilt in hand, Mike drew the blade majestically, triumphantly, victoriously from his pants.

Only to reveal a short pocket knife. Kurt stopped thrashing about. Blaine stopped massaging his groin. Mike's mouth dropped open in disbelief.  
"Seriously?" asked Kurt mockingly. "That's it? That's all you got?"  
"That's not even…5 inches. Maybe 4 at best," said Blaine off-handedly.  
"And this is what you left me for?" Kurt asked Blaine accusingly. "Seriously?"  
"Well excuuuse me, how was I supposed to know–"  
"He's ASIAN for Christ's–"  
"I GET IT!" Mike interrupted as loudly as possible. "I _get_ the Asian stereotype…but you know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover," warned Mike in his most menacing voice possible. Somewhere in the back of his mind, far beyond the reaches of logic and the laws of physics that he knew so well, a small seedling of absurdity had taken root. And that absurdity, that inkling of insanity, was urging him to take control of the situation by any means necessary.  
"Yeah but that's not a book. That's a dagger," pointed out Blaine.  
It was Kurt's turn to correct him. "Not even. More like a Swiss army knife?"  
"You know, it _might_ actually pass for a paring kn–"  
"Thunder," bellowed Mike at the top of his lungs as slashed his knife to the left. Immediately, the knife began to brim with energy as it grew by a few inches. Mike grinned confidently as he shouted "Thunder" a second time while slashing his blade to his right. Again, the blade resonated with power and extended a few more inches. No longer able to contain his sword's strength with just one hand, he grabbed his pulsing weapon with both hands and swung it down in front of him as he exclaimed "Thunder" one last time, finally feeling the force of the blade synchronizing with his willpower.  
"Sweet Jesus…" Kurt murmured as he let his mouth drop open in awe.  
"Now, _that's_ my man." Blaine folded his arms in satisfaction as he lustfully eyed the growing length of Mike's rigid steel. Mike smirked cockily as he swung his blade upwards, pointed it straight up to the heavens, and inhaled deeply.  
"Thundercats, HOOOOO!" As Mike roared the final line, his sword began shining with the brilliance of a thousand stars as it finally enlarged itself into its final and complete form. Mike laughed weakly, as if in disbelief, at the sheer girth and length of his fully awakened blade. Blaine on the other hand, had fainted from a powerful nosebleed caused by extremely un-dapper thoughts. Not wasting another moment, Mike brandished his blade and leapt at Kurt, who in response managed to thrust both his sais directly at Mike's forehead and…

Mike jolted upright in his bed. There was a cold, ringing sensation in his forehead that ached with genuine pain. Mike instinctively touched his forehead and checked for blood, and sighed in relief when he found that there was none. He looked to the side of his bed and realized that the dull pain had been caused by nothing more than his stainless steel alarm clock falling from its perch onto his sleeping face. Mike put the clock back in place and attempted to get out of bed. But almost immediately, before even setting foot on the floor, he felt a throbbing tension surge throughout his body. From the tip of his spine up to the crown of his neck, Mike felt like every muscle in between those two points had shriveled to a fraction of its normal size. He groaned in pain, but eventually mustered the energy to put on a hooded sweater. Not that he actually needed the shirt though. For although his body felt warm, hot in fact, he felt like he was getting shivers from exposing his bare torso to the open air in his room. After adding body aches and chills onto the two new symptoms he was suddenly experiencing (light-headedness and a sore throat that made it difficult for him to even swallow)…Mike quickly concluded that he had very nasty case of the flu. The worst part? It was a school day, and Mike never skipped school.

Mike sat down at the kitchen counter with a bowl of steaming hot congee. Normally, he'd help himself to one or two of various traditional Chinese toppings, such as dried anchovies or _yau ja gwai_ (Chinese fried donut sticks). Today however, he opted to have his congee with a bit of soy sauce. He didn't think his throat could handle anything more than that.  
"_Jou sahn_ Michael." Mike reflexively twitched as his mother's entrance caught him off-guard. There was something about the gentleness of her voice and the delicateness of her steps as she walked through the kitchen that had long convinced him that she must've been a former femme fatale. He was certain that he had inherited some kind of ninja arts from her.  
"_Jou sahn _mom." Mike tried to reply as normally as possible, but he couldn't hide the slight hoarseness in his words.  
His mother literally froze in her tracks in response to his raspy voice. "You know, I haven't given you a good morning kiss in a while," she whispered ever so softly. Mike was instantly wary.  
"I'm a little old for that don't you think–" But Mike didn't have a chance to finish. Faster than he could even see, his mother had spun around and closed the distance between them in a matter of nanoseconds. She leaned forward to give him a kiss, but Mike's instincts finally kicked in and helped him dodge at the last moment.  
"Come now child, let me kiss you." Mike could hear the feigned sentimentality in her voice and knew what she was really up to.  
"I don't really think you need–"But again Mike couldn't complete his excuse. His mother started diving at him, her lips protruding like a spear of some sort. Mike did everything he could to outmaneuver her, swaying to the right and sliding to the left, and it almost seemed like his ninja skills were finally a match for his mother's agility.  
"Michael!" warned his mother in a sharp, annoyed tone.  
"Seriously mom, it's embarra–" Mike didn't even bother to finish his sentence this time as he turned away and tried to escape from the kitchen. But before he could even take a step, his mother had swept forward and stomped down on his right foot. As he tripped and began falling, she quickly sprang forward and grabbed him by the hood of his sweater. In one smooth motion, she pulled him upright and spun him back around, only to do a quick kick to his shin that brought him down on one knee. In this position, Mike's face was only a few inches below her eye level. Sensing that she had finally properly subdued her son, she leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against his forehead.  
"…You're sick Michael," she said triumphantly.  
"No I'm not. And wait, why do you sound so happy?" Mike asked as he got back on his feet and rubbed his shin in pain.  
"No reason," she lied smugly. Truthfully, she was just happy she could still kick her son's ass if she ever needed to. "And lips don't lie son, they're extremely sensitive to temperature." She walked to the other side of the kitchen and began rummaging through the medicine cabinet for daytime Sudafed.  
"Fine, but it's just a fever." Mike was back at the counter, grimacing as he tried to eat his congee. Even though it should've been easy to eat since it was entirely liquid, his sore throat was making it impossible to swallow anything.  
She placed the medicine in front of him alongside a cup of tea. "Take some meds and take the day off. Your father already left for work so he won't know if you take a break today."  
Mike gave up on breakfast and pushed his bowl aside. "Wish I could mom, but I have a quiz today and a lab I need to finish up."  
"But what good would it do you to go to class sick? You won't be able to focus on the quiz _or_ the lab…"  
"But there are no make-up quizzes for Psych AP and I can't exactly leave my partner to finish a big lab on his own." Mike's mother sighed. She knew there was no use arguing with her son, especially since he was just as headstrong as her husband. Even if she had knocked him out on the spot (and she knew that she could, the morning's events had verified it for her), he would've awoken an hour or two later and would've gone to school anyways.  
"Well make sure you at least take your medicine and tea. And dress warmly. I'll drive you today if you'd like." She picked up her coat and car keys, already knowing his answer.  
"Yeah, sounds good." Mike managed to swallow his pills, albeit with great difficulty, and sipped some tea before scowling in displeasure. "Panda hair?" he asked in disgust.  
"Panda hair," she answered with a simple grin. There was something cute about the way her son's face scrunched up when he frowned. Of course, if she had told him the _real_ ingredients in the tea…he probably would've vomited. She shuddered at the thought. That wasn't cute at all.

Mike struggled through his morning. Psych AP was only his second class of the day, but his fever had escalated and rendered him barely able to read the words on the quiz. On the bright side, it was just multiple choice questions on one topic: ADHD. On the crap side, he had only 10 minutes to do 20 questions. Mike figured that if he spent half a minute per question, he'd do fine. That was certainly manageable. He'd faced worse odds before. And so it was that he felt slightly more confident as he proceeded to read the first question on the quiz: _Which of the following are symptoms of the hyperactive-impulsive form of ADHD as defined by DSM-IV? Circle all that apply._ There were 18 possible options to choose from. _Eighteen_. Mike wanted to die.

Burnt out from the quiz, Mike spent the rest of the period reminiscing about his own childhood and how he himself had come close to being diagnosed with ADHD. It wasn't that he was particularly inattentive or impulsive as a child though, which by default should have technically ruled out ADHD at all. It's just that he always seemed be involved in a lot of…movement. Specifically, movement of the dancing variety. And he was always in the mood to dance. So much so, that he would fidget and dance in his seat, dash around and waltz with any inanimate object in sight, and just have difficulty in doing activities that prevented him from dancing in general. Unbeknownst to him at the time but quite clear in retrospect now that he had learned about ADHD, he had exhibited 5 of the 9 criteria that were symptomatic of the hyperactive-impulsive form of ADHD. He had literally been _one_ symptom away from being diagnosed with ADHD, and he didn't even know it until now.

But his father knew. And his father didn't care if the psychiatrist or pediatrician wouldn't diagnose Mike with ADHD (_It's a stigma_, they would say). His father didn't care if the doctors wouldn't sign off on a prescription for stimulants (_He can form an addition_, they would say). His father didn't care what he had to do to get his hands on those drugs and in the end, his father somehow procured Ritalin for Mike. And thus began the most boring, quietest, and darkest years of Mike's life: devoid of dancing, confined to busywork, rife with monotony. Mike didn't particularly hate, or even blame his father though. After all, even if he didn't technically have ADHD, the stimulants his father got him certainly did help Mike become the excellent student that he was now. Sure, he still hadn't completely shaken off the 'quiet Asian kid' reputation he had built during his younger years, but he was slowly breaking out of that mold thanks to being on New Directions and sports teams. And besides, he had stopped regularly taking the medication since Junior High and he was doing just fine (or so he figured).

Unfortunately for Mike, reflecting on his childhood did nothing to make his flu go away. If anything, the memories made him more somber and more vulnerable to his flu symptoms. By lunch, all he could manage was drinking plain water since his throat felt like it had been recently lacerated by a blender. He didn't have an appetite anyways, since all his body seemed to want to do was fall apart on the spot. But he forced himself to make the dreary trek to Chem AP, ever afraid that his abs would cave in on itself from muscle cramps and what not. It was only after his fever peaked in the middle of the lab, that he decided that he couldn't take it anymore and would just go to the nurse's office after finishing up. That is, if he could make it through the entire lab in the first place.  
"You don't look so good Mike…" Mike cast a tired glance over at his lab partner and smiled weakly.  
"It's all good Blaine, just tired that's all," Mike said assuredly.  
"So you say but…" Blaine touched the back of his hand to Mike's forehead. Mike shivered and shied from the cool touch of Blaine's hand. "You're definitely on fire. And I don't mean that in the good way."  
"Just a fever for cowbell I guess," Mike joked lamely in reference to Christopher Walken's skit on SNL. "I'd settle for some of your singing though. What are you performing for glee club today?"  
"Who said I'd sing for you?" said Blaine teasingly. Had it been a few weeks prior, Blaine would've blushed at the thought of singing to Mike. It had been a silly little crush, on a straight boy no less, but he couldn't help it. Mike had made his first month at McKinley bearable, pleasant even, despite not having Kurt as his support anymore. But now, halfway through October, Blaine knew that the crush would have never amounted to anything. The boy was straight after all, so a platonic friendship with him was more than Blaine could have asked for in the first place. That was why he no longer felt embarrassed at the thought of doing something cute for Mike, since it couldn't have been misconstrued by either of them.

Without warning, Mike slumped over onto the lab bench as his face fell forward into his crossed arms.  
"Mike?" Blaine called out worriedly, hoping that his friend was just being dramatic. "I–I was just joking, I'll sing whatever you want me to!" But Mike didn't respond. Alarmed, Blaine stood up and was about to carry (or at least _try_ to carry) the taller boy to the nurse's office, when said boy's hand reached out and pulled Blaine back to his seat.  
"I'm a little sleepy Blaine, don't worry about it. Let me…rest…a little…" And before he knew it, Mike had drifted off into a nap. Blaine sighed and began setting up the experiment they had been working on. Though he knew that it probably would've been in Mike's best interest to take him to the nurse, Blaine knew by now that that there simply was no compromising with the Asian when it came to schoolwork. He'd just have to do double duty today, all the while keeping an eye on Mike's fever.

"Crap," Blaine muttered under his breath. He was a few steps away from finishing the lab, but he just couldn't get the steam distillation apparatus set up correctly. He glanced over at the still sleeping Mike and sighed, secretly hoping that the boy would wake up in time and save their experiment. But the boy stayed silent, save for the quiet snore every now and then, which meant Blaine had to somehow manage on his own. He was sure he had attached all the parts correctly, as indicated in the lab manual, but the steam from the boiling flask (full of water and caraway seeds) simply would not condense into their collection tube. He fidgeted with the contraption a little before he finally gave up and decided to go check what the other groups were doing. Surely some other pair must've figured out the blasted device by now.

He was surprised to find Mike up and about when he returned from gathering advice from other groups.  
"I went ahead and reattached the Claisen adapter, it didn't have a tight seal so all the steam was leaking out," Mike explained as his fingers worked nimbly. "I also finished gathering the condensate and I'm running it through the separatory funnel right now. Once that's done, you should remove the excess water by running it over some magnesium sulfate. Vacuum off any remaining ether in the fume hood and then check the product's identity and purity on a thin-layer chromatography plate," he instructed with authority. All Blaine could do was nod dumbly at Mike's orders. If he hadn't realized it before, he now knew just how outclassed he was compared to Mike.  
"What are you, Snape's spawn?" teased Blaine, relieved that Mike seemed to be doing slightly better than before. Mike winked at Blaine, showing off his signature smile like he always did, before he sat back down onto his stool…and proceeded to black out and collapse onto the floor.

Mike woke up to the smell of spearmint. The spicy aroma traveled up his nostrils, past his inactive tear ducts, and all the way into his cranium, where it seemed to alleviate some of the pounding in his head.  
He could hear a familiar voice calling out to him as he cracked open his eyes. "Mike?"  
"…Where am I Blaine?" Mike asked groggily as he tried to sit up from whatever he was laying on.  
"The nurse's office. I carried you here after you KO'd in lab," said Blaine nervously. "You feeling OK now? Your fever is still pretty bad, should I call your parents or something? Maybe I should–"  
"No it's fine Blaine, just…" Mike let out a ragged and strained sigh as he laid back onto the bed. "Just let me rest up. And where's that smell coming from?"  
"Oh you mean this?" Blaine held up a small vial of some clear tincture. "It's the carvone we extracted from the caraway seeds. Apparently, we prepared the enantiomeric form that smells like spearmint instead of caraway. Success right?" Blaine asked worriedly. If he fucked this up, Mike was definitely going to go running back to the lab to correct the mistake, even in the condition that he was in. Fortunately, Mike laid back and smiled. "It smells good. Smells really good…"  
"Want another waft?" Blaine leaned in towards Mike's face to offer another sniff of the herby oil. But before Mike could even warn him to stay back, Mike let out a series of deep, phlegmy coughs right into Blaine's face.

Mike looked on in horror as Blaine shut his eyes tightly and contorted his face in disgust.  
"Oh God Blaine…" Mike reached out with one of his hands to wipe away the droplets of spit on Blaine's face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to–" But before he could finish apologizing, he was overcome by another fit of coughs.  
"It's ok," Blaine said through gritted teeth. "I'll just…I'm going to…I'll be right back." Blaine shuffled quickly out of the room before Mike could apologize again. In the moments after Blaine left, Mike began to recall his very odd and peculiar dream from that morning. He didn't know why he was getting flashbacks of the ludicrous dream (perhaps because he still couldn't get past dream-Kurt's very direct accusations?), but he suspected that it was his subconscious' way of telling him that he had messed up things between him and Blaine. He couldn't even explain _what_ it was that he had messed up, but the guilt continued to bore away at him as he fell back into a uneasy nap.

As Mike slept, he dreamt a simple dream. So simple in fact, that he didn't even exist in the dream. It was just plain nothingness, stillness…and a voice. A sweet voice, that was singing _acapella_ the words to a familiar song.

_I believe in medication  
__And I believe in therapy  
__And I believe in crystal light.  
__Cause I believe in me, yeah.  
__It's so uplifting, fuck yeah!_

Mike knew this song. He knew it well in fact. It was the anthem of his medicated middle school years. It was the song he listened to on a daily basis, as is to validate his boring pre-teen years. It was the song that soothed him despite all the Ritalin he ingested. It was the song that consoled him when he was forced to stifle his movements, when he was only allowed to dance in his dreams.

_I barely have the motivation  
They say I suffer from a lack of serotonin  
__Synapses, they happen too infrequently for me  
__To be functioning properly_

But why was he hearing it now? And in a dream no less? Or at least, he was pretty sure it was a dream. It definitely did not have the same feel as the feverish one he had had this morning, but it certainly didn't seem to be a part of reality.

_I took the pills  
I took the advice  
The panic stopped  
But still, I'm not right  
Racing thoughts and wasted time  
It's the same old story-line  
This is my nursery rhyme  
And it goes…_

Mike forced himself awake. His eyes shot open as he tried to make sense of the song in his dream, as he tried to figure out why anyone would choose to sing such a sad song. And yet, even though he was wide awake, the singing did not stop. He slowly turned his head to face the serenading voice.

_I'm barely off the medication  
And now the walls are closing in again  
I can't breathe and I can't bleed  
Will you be my alibi?  
Tell them that I truly tried  
To give in?  
__Woa-oh, woa-oh. Ooh, ooh  
__Woa-oh, woa-oh. Ooh, ooh  
__Woa-oh, woa-oh. Ooh, ooh  
__Woa-oh, woa-oh_

There sat Blaine, singing in a clear and strong voice as always. He had Mike's iPhone in hand, his headphones on, and seemed to be singing along to the song. As he finished crooning the last few lines, he opened his eyes to look at Mike.  
"How'd you like that?" he asked simply. There was no resentment in his face, just calmness.  
"I liked it," croaked Mike. His voice was practically gone now, but he still tried to speak. "I liked it…a lot."  
"Never knew you were a Motion City Soundtrack fan too. They have some pretty amazing stuff." Blaine smiled as he looked through more of Mike's playlists.  
"Hey Blaine?"  
"Mhm?"  
"Sorry for coughing…in your face."  
"Don't worry about it, I cleaned up."  
"But you're going to get sick because of me."  
"Well, maybe it's my fault for not getting the flu shot already." Blaine winked at him. Mike smiled and winked back. He wanted to talk about it some more, but he was too tired. In the past month that he had gotten to know Blaine, Mike knew by now that Blaine really was the forgiving type. That and Blaine always did his best to make others feel better, a trait that was even mimicked by dream-Blaine (though in a cruder manner).  
"I really am sorry though…"  
"It's no biggie. Go back to sleep."  
"…Shouldn't you go back to class?"  
"Well technically, I'm sick now because of you," said Blaine as he nudged Mike playfully. "So, I thought I'd take the rest of the afternoon off." The two boys chuckled quietly as Blaine picked another song to sing.

Blaine felt like shit. He imagined this was what a woman's period felt like and didn't even care how sexist he may have sounded. He also had no idea how Mike managed to survive more than half a day at school with this flu, but he didn't have the energy to find out. He would just stay at home until the worst was over. As he tried to fall back asleep, his cell phone started ringing. Without even checking who it was, he picked it up and answered it.  
"Hello?" he said in as cheerful a voice as possible. Blaine heard a low chuckle on the other end of the line.  
"Told you you'd get sick. You sound like death."  
"Rubbing it in doesn't help Mike." True, Blaine felt like he was dying, but hearing from Mike always seemed to change his mood for the better. "What's up?" he asked, as he settled comfortably into his bed.  
"I just thought of a way to make it up to you…for getting you sick. And when we're both feeling better of course."  
"Is that so? You know you really don't have to do–"  
"How do you like Florence and the Machine?" Mike paused with bated breath as he waited to hear Blaine's reaction.  
Blaine broke out into a sheepish grin. "Go on?"


	4. Howl

**Song used in this chapter: Florence + The Machine – Howl. I highly recommend going on YouTube to listen to/watch a live version, specifically their performance on Letterman, to get into the mood of this chapter.**

* * *

Mike sat nervously in the driver's seat of his Toyota Corolla. He couldn't explain why he was nervous; he just knew that he was. He was bouncing his leg much more than usual and his grip on the steering hadn't loosened one bit since he had parked the car…ten minutes ago. He tried to calm himself down by taking deep breaths, but he somehow messed up the simple breathing exercise and ended up hyperventilating instead. With a frustrated growl, he flipped down the panel directly above him to check over his outfit in the mini-mirror. His slacks were black and slim. His fitted black dress shirt was tucked in neatly. His silver vest matched perfectly with his skinny silver tie. He looked prim and proper in every respect, and some might even say _overdressed_ for an outdoor concert. But, the concert organizers had specifically stated that the concert was _themed_: it was to be one big masquerade ball. It was a fitting motif, considering that it was taking place on Halloween. Mike flipped the panel back up and checked his phone to see if he had missed anything. He was sure he had parked outside of the right house. He was sure he had texted the right number. He was sure he had arrived exactly on time. _So why am I still nervous?_ It wasn't like him to be this nervous, especially when it came to kicking it with Blaine. They had hung out plenty of times in the past month, and not once had he broken a sweat over it. But now, moments before yet another hang out (ok, a little bigger than a normal hang out), Mike was getting antsy over God knows what. As he ran his fingertips through his lightly hair-sprayed hair, he couldn't help but wonder once more: _What's taking Blaine so long?_

Blaine stood nervously in front of the bathroom mirror. He couldn't explain why he was nervous; he just knew that he was. It wasn't like he was about to go on a date with Mike or anything because one, he was pretty sure Mike was straight; two, he was pretty sure Mike was with Tina; and three, he was pretty sure Mike was STRAIGHT. Extra emphasis on the heterosexuality because Blaine knew the pointlessness of pining for someone who inherently couldn't reciprocate his feelings. Blaine had hurt himself enough times from getting his hopes too high over a straight guy, and he didn't want a replay of the disappointment and grief that always accompanied such false expectations. Blaine mentally reassured himself that that he would make nothing more of tonight than what it was:_ Just a man-date, an evening of platonic bromance_. He felt it necessary to repeat this mantra to himself because otherwise, he may just actually fuck things up. After finally convincing himself that he was ready, he looked over his outfit for the night. Skinny black khakis that clung tightly to his legs. A thin black button-up that he had intentionally _not_ ironed (_Just a man-date!_). Gold suspenders that strapped down his shoulders and a neat gold bowtie to round it all out. He wasn't sure what Mike was wearing, but he wasn't too worried. He had specifically picked this outfit because it would be difficult to be inadvertently matching with Mike and thereby embarrass Mike. Once he finished dressing and was finally ready to leave, he instinctively sprayed some cologne on himself before realizing that it was unnecessary and inappropriate even for tonight (_Just a man-date!_). But it was too late; the damage was done. All he could was face-palm as he headed down the stairs. He just hoped Mike wouldn't notice.

He face-palmed again as he got into the passenger's seat of Mike's car. Their outfits were matching.  
"Looking pretty spiffy Blaine." Mike tried to make his compliment sound casual, yet genuine at the time. His demeanor was anything _but _casual though, as he was still nervously gripping his steering wheel with both hands.  
"Thanks Mike," said Blaine as he buckled himself in. "I wanted to pick something that wouldn't match and make us look, you know…" Blaine stopped himself from completing that statement. "But that obviously was an epic fail."  
Mike chuckled as he watched the other boy pretend to mope. "All good Blaine." For the first time that afternoon, Mike relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. He reached into the backseat and rummaged around for awhile before procuring two masks. "I got us matching wolf masks since they were 'buy one get one free.' Guess we were going to match anyways."  
Blaine couldn't help but smirk as he took one of the masks. "Too cute," said Blaine off-handedly as he put the mask on. The words had barely left his lips before he realized how the remark must've sounded to Mike. He instantly corrected himself in an effort to do damage control.  
"I–I meant the masks are cute! Not you necessarily. Not that you aren't but–" Mike's laughter cut Blaine off mid-sentence. The older boy just shook his head and put the car in reverse, all the while assuring Blaine that he understood completely. That didn't stop Blaine from tying to face-palm again…but the snout of his mask prevented his hand from actually making contact with his face. At least the mask was helpful in hiding his furious blushing.

The car ride to the concert venue was thankfully, embarrassment-free for the both of them. It was a series of casual conversations about a variety of topics, none of which ever felt forced and all of which felt natural. One joke led to another, stories intertwined, and they eventually got to the point where they had shared some of their future hopes with one another. It was just like any of their other hang-outs, albeit a bit more personal and thankfully homework-free. The whole ride, Blaine couldn't help but think about what a shame it was that they were already at the end of October and this car ride was the first time the two of them had ever had engaged in this kind of conversation. Never had they ever sat down and divulged so much information to one another and never had Blaine been so genuinely interested, entertained, and fascinated by someone. He only hoped that Mike felt the same way too. Suffice to say, Blaine found himself continuously repeating his mantra to keep his infatuation in check (_Just a man-date!_). It became a ritual actually, where Mike would say something that would make Blaine swoon and Blaine would mentally remind himself that Mike was with Tina…and that Mike was straight. But it eventually got to the point where Blaine could no longer handle the frequency with which his heart skipped after every new and amazing discovery about the other boy. So he decided to change the topic to something more neutral.  
"So Mike, you never told me how much the tickets were." They had just finished talking about buying high-quality jeans while on a tight budget, which had reminded Blaine of how this entire night was coming out of Mike's funds.  
"Nothing crazy. It's an amphitheater after all, and it's open seating and all that." Mike had wanted to avoid this conversation and was trying not to make a big deal out of it as he parked the car.  
Blaine wasn't falling for it though. "I've been to a concert here before and I'm _pretty_ sure it's not just open seating. The price depends on whether you're in the lawn area, the stadium, or on the floor." Mike unbuckled himself and started getting out of the car, pretending not to hear Blaine. Blaine was definitely suspicious now.  
"Mike…how much did you pay for the tickets?" Blaine asked in a serious tone as he too got out of the car.  
Mike chuckled nervously. "It was nothing really, don't worry about it. Plus, this is to make up for getting you sick, remember?"  
"I do remember, but now that I think about it, this concert seems like a little much for just saying sorry…" Blaine was having second thoughts about the whole thing now. "Seriously, how much was it? Because if you paid a lot for this, I'm definitely paying you back."  
Mike pretended to scoff and acted insulted. "You'll do no such thing," he declared chivalrously. "But if you insist, you just enjoying the concert will be more than enough to pay me back." Mike started walking towards the entrance of the amphitheater and motioned for Blaine to follow along with the wink of an eye. Blaine felt himself breaking into a grin as he jogged to catch up.

After passing through the stone archways at the entrance, the two put on their wolf masks and entered the giant amphitheater. Blaine started to walk up the stairs towards the lawn seating in the rear, but Mike pulled him back by the suspenders.  
"We're not sitting up there," Mike said playfully.  
"Are we sitting in the stadium seats then?" Blaine asked, suspicions arising once more.  
"Well we're not sitting per se…" Mike chuckled nervously as he led the way down the stairs. Sure enough, Mike had bought two _floor_ tickets for them, so they were going to be standing and possibly moshing all night. The floor wasn't too crowded yet, about a quarter of the way full, and so the two of them found their way towards the center of the pit.  
"Mike, you really shouldn't have gotten these tickets," said Blaine apprehensively.  
Mike's face immediately filled with worry. "Awww shit, I didn't even realize you wouldn't like standing the whole time. So sorry dude, I should've asked you first. I shouldn't have just assumed that–"  
"It's not about that Mike, being on the floor is the best place you could possibly ask for! But…" Blaine paused and made an accusatory face. "Floor tickets are also the most expensive tickets you could possibly ask for. Seriously Mike, how much did you pay?"  
Mike sighed in relief. "Guess you'll never know." And with that, Mike slipped on his wolf mask to try and hide his playful grin.  
"I can see you smiling under there Mike; the mask only hides the top half of your face you know." Blaine tried to sound a little indignant, but Mike's giddiness was just making it too hard to be anything but cheerful. "Fine, don't tell me. I'll just owe you for this. Big time."  
Mike just laughed as he turned Blaine around and pushed him towards the front of the growing crowd. "Fine by me!"

The pre-show performances, while not done by particularly well-known bands, were excellent in their own right. They got Mike and Blaine pumped, head-banging, and singing along to the few words that they actually knew. So while the sun had already set by the time the last pre-show performance ended, both of the boys were well warmed up for the main act. Blaine did a quick scan of the entire amphitheater and could see that it had filled up considerably, almost to maximum capacity. He could already feel the characteristic pushing and nudging of a mosh pit and knew the concert was going to start soon. For now though, there was just instrumental music playing lowly in the background as the band continued to set up. Blaine turned to talk to Mike but saw that he was on his iPhone.  
"Who you texting...Tina?" Blaine asked mischievously. Mike let out a short chuckle, but otherwise made no comment as he continued to type away. Blaine normally would've let it go, but he was suddenly curious. Specifically, he was curious about why he was here, but not Tina. Florence + The Machine was definitely the kind of music that Tina loved (then again, everyone loved Florence) and the masquerade theme was definitely the kind of scene that Tina would have enjoyed too. And yet here was Mike, without his girlfriend, about to enjoy this epic concert with _Blaine_ of all people. Blaine decided he would ask Mike about it, but he had a feeling he should be extra tactful.  
"How come you didn't invite Tina?" Blaine asked innocently.  
Mike looked up from his phone for a second, before looking back down. "She wouldn't have wanted to come," said Mike cautiously.  
"Not too sure about that. Seems like this was everything she could've wanted in a concert."  
Mike nodded in agreement but was still avoiding eye-contact. "Yeah, I guess so."  
"But…" Blaine knew he had to be careful about his next words. He could sense that there was something amiss, but didn't want to jump to any conclusions yet. "I'm the one that's here with you. Instead of Tina." Mike shrugged as he continued to focus on his phone. Blaine knew that though this would've been an awkward moment to stop the questioning, it would've been what Mike preferred. But Blaine felt particularly inclined, almost obligated, to continue forward.  
"I wonder why that is…"  
"Why what is?"  
"Why Tina's not here with us."  
"Because she wouldn't have wanted to come." Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but he decided to stop. He knew Mike well enough to tell that he was pushing the boy closer and closer to converting over to his quiet persona, where he would just withdraw into his shell and stop talking altogether. So instead, Blaine let out a small sigh and just observed as Mike continued to fiddle with his phone. He knew when to respect Mike's boundaries.

Mike glanced up, surprised that Blaine had stopped asking questions. He had half-expected the shorter boy to continue his interrogation. But seeing the way Blaine just stood there, looking back at him understandingly, made him feel like spilling everything. And so with a defeated sigh, he did.  
"It's because she wouldn't have wanted to come," said Mike haggardly. "…with me." Blaine looked at him inquisitively, and then worriedly as the realization started to sink in.  
"You don't mean…"  
"I mean…I mean we're not together anymore. And probably not on good terms either, or at least not yet." Mike finally stuffed his phone back into his pocket before looking at Blaine knowingly, as if to say 'Now you know.' And now that Blaine _did _know, he was in a state of disbelief. In retrospect, Blaine felt like he should have known it sooner. After all, he had been hanging out with Mike plenty over the past weeks and not once did Tina join them, nor did Mike make any mention of her. But perhaps Blaine never noticed the break-up because he had taken the ex-couple's relationship for granted, because he had assumed that it was the most stable one in their glee club. Now that they were done for…well, Blaine didn't know what else to feel other than shock.

He repeatedly tried to say something, anything that could be even interpreted as comforting, but ended up stumbling over the few choice words he had in mind. In reality, he hadn't the faintest idea what to say in moments like this, and he was sure his loss for words was starting to show. When he finally did manage to say something, it was impersonal and apologetic.  
"I'm so sorry to hear that. I mean, I didn't even know. And if I had known, I definitely wouldn't have brought it up to make you feel bad." Blaine mentally face-palmed as soon as he finished talking. _Seriously? What the hell was that?  
_"Don't worry about it." Mike continued to avoid eye-contact with Blaine, and finally settled on looking up at the night sky.  
"…Do you want to talk about it?" Blaine asked after a few moments of awkward silence.  
"Nope," Mike answered brusquely as he aimlessly wandered away. Blaine took off his mask and physically face-palmed. He had involuntarily ruined the evening.

The wait for the concert to begin was antagonizingly long. Mike eventually returned to Blaine's side but he had shifted into quiet Asian boy mode, leaving an uncomfortable silence to linger in the air. Blaine didn't know what else to say to comfort Mike, nor did he know what to say to make Mike forget about the whole predicament. All he could do was concede that he had fucked up, fucked up real bad. Feeling beaten, he started mindlessly kicking at the floor before stuffing his hands into his pockets like a child…only to feel something hard and metallic in his left pocket. Blaine's eyes widened in surprise as he suddenly remembered what he had brought along: a flask full of coke and rum. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it incredulously. How could he have forgotten about it all night? He had packed it for the express purpose of breaking the ice between the two of them should things get weird, and lo and behold, this was the perfect moment for it! Admittedly, it wasn't like he had needed some liquid luck to inspire a good time earlier that evening since Mike seemed to bring spontaneous fun to everything. But at this point, Blaine would take any ounce of help he could get to make it through the night. Without warning, he opened the flask and took a giant swig of the mixed drink. Mike looked at him in surprise.  
"Is that–"  
"Coke and rum. People pre-game before concerts right?" Blaine smacked his lips as if it was the most refreshing drink in the world. Mike chuckled softly. "You want some?" Blaine asked enticingly.  
"Nah, I need to drive us later remember?" Mike said as he shook his head solemnly. Blaine _normally _wasn't the type to peer pressure anyone, but he was pretty sure Mike needed this just as much as he did.  
"You'll sober up by the time the concert is over. Besides," Blaine put the flask directly into Mike's hand, which he held hesitantly. "It'll help you, you know…forget." Mike stopped to consider his proposition for a second, before nodding in agreement. He put the flask to his lips and threw his head back as he downed half of the container. As he drank, he realized there was something off about the drink.  
"What's in this?" Mike asked quizzically as he handed the flask back to Blaine. Blaine laughed out loud as he patted Mike on the back as if to congratulate him.  
"Just coke and rum." Blaine took another swill.  
"Yeah but, how much?" Mike was asking because he literally did not taste _any_ alcohol at all.  
"Oh! Well I put _one_ _full_ _shot_ of Captain Morgan. Was that too much? I didn't want it to taste bad or anything." Mike laughed as he shook his head. One shot of spiced rum in a full flask of coke? That drink was so diluted, it wouldn't even get Mike red. Sure he'd get the stereotypical Asian glow if he kept drinking, but considering his 6'0 frame and the 160 solid pounds of muscle he had on him (not to mention his ridiculously high metabolism), Mike could drink this entire flask and still do his calculus homework…with just an abacus.  
"It's fine Blaine!" Mike laughed aloud as he tussled Blaine's hair.  
"Hope I don't get too tipsy from this…" Blaine muttered as he took another mouthful and pretended to sway drunkenly. But while he pretended to be intoxicated on the outside, he was jumping with joy on the inside. His plan had saved the night. Just in time too, as Florence finally took the stage and began singing right away.

It was literally the best concert the two boys had ever been to. Hearing such a powerful vocalist sing her heart out was just awe-inspiring and breath-taking. So inspiring, that at various times throughout the night, Blaine found both himself _and _Mike singing along. Blaine wasn't sure if it was because of the liquor or not, but he was pretty sure it didn't matter. As the night waned on, Blaine found himself wanting more than just rocking along to the beats and waving his arms in the air; Blaine wanted to _actually_ dance, and he suspected the same of Mike. Instead, Mike remained totally composed throughout the concert, a feat Blaine presumed to be extremely challenging for the other boy. All Mike allowed himself were meek and almost non-existent sways of his body.  
"You're holding back!" Blaine stated obviously. He would've offered Mike more to drink in order to loosen up, but they had long run out of the mixed drink. All Blaine could do was hope that the alcohol was still in effect.  
"Holding what back?" Mike asked innocently.  
"I mean, you aren't dancing like you normally do. Why's that?" asked Blaine teasingly.  
Mike broke into a broad smile. "Why should I dance if _you_ aren't _you_ dancing?" Blaine smirked in response. Mike had taken the bait.  
"Well I'm dancing now!" shouted Blaine as he started to move more freely. He let his arms and legs move smoothly as he tried to stretch them out as best he could in such a cramped space (they were still in the middle of the mosh pit after all). Mike laughed as he started moving about more liberally than before.  
"Seems like I gotta dance too," Mike finally conceded as he clapped his hands to the rhythm of the music.

After a full two hours of phenomenal performances, the band finally announced that they were going to play their last song for the night. It was almost as if that announcement had incited a riot: the entire crowd on the floor started moshing and rushing forward, roaring with enthusiasm and screaming pleas to hear their favorite song. The sudden surge of bodies caught Mike completely off-guard and before he could catch his balance, the people behind him had been pushed him all the way forward…and right up against Blaine's back. Blaine let out a startled yelp as he felt their bodies collide together, his rear flush against Mike's front. He tried to separate himself as quickly as possible, not wanting to encroach on the other's personal space for too long, but the surrounding crowd made it impossible for either boy to budge from their spot. And so it was that as Florence started to sing, the two boys stayed absolutely motionless, rendered immobile in their current positions.

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me  
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free  
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart  
Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

Blaine didn't know what came over him. He certainly didn't _feel_ drunk. But he was certain that he wasn't in the right mindset either. What else could explain his sudden urge to dancing? What else could explain why he actually _did _start dancing, and right up against Mike too? He knew he should stop. Every fiber of his being was insisting so. But at the same time, he knew that couldn't stop…or was it that he wouldn't?

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in  
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl  
My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in  
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to  
Howl, howl  
Howl, howl_

Blaine's mind raced. He was thinking of ways to apologize to Mike, to say sorry for grinding up against him when he so obviously shouldn't be. He thought of using the surrounding crowd as an excuse, that he was just swaying his hips and moving his body along like he was propagating a spreading wave. But in the end, he knew that reasoning wouldn't work. He knew for a _fact _that it wouldn't work…because against his better judgment, he had just impulsively grabbed Mike's hands and placed them firmly on his hips. No amount of apologizing could undo that.

_Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack  
My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out  
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound  
I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground_

Blaine had done it now. He had officially fucked up everything good about this night. He had destroyed any hopes of redeeming what was supposed to be _just a man-date_, and probably shattered any dreams of still being Mike's friend after this night. He had crossed the _one _line he had set for himself tonight, the one thing he was supposed to be reminding and warning himself of constantly. And all for what? Just so he could pretend to be dancing with his straight-guy crush? His weak self-restraint sickened him, so much so that he could not bear to turn around to face Mike and apologize to him for violating every level of Bro Code possible.

_Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins  
I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness  
And howl, howl  
Howl, howl_

And yet curiously enough, Mike's hands never stopped touching him ever after Blaine took his own hands away. In fact, Mike's hands didn't even stay in place. They were slowly but surely moving up and down Blaine's thigh, if the nerve endings in his legs were to be trusted. And the more Blaine tried to feel where Mike's hands crept, the more aware he became of just _how_ _close _Mike's body was to his very own. He could feel Mike's chest right up against his shoulder blades, Mike's abs bordering his back, Mike's thighs underlining his own, and heaven forbid, Mike's groin riding up against his bottom.

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers  
It starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters  
Hunters, hunters, hunters, hunters  
Hunters, hunters, hunters, hunters  
_

Blaine was pretty sure he was drunk, if not off the alcohol from earlier then off pure euphoria. He could feel every part of Mike's body dancing against his own, from every chest-pop to every body-roll. Even better, he could sense no inhibition from Mike or any signs of him stopping the mesmerizing dance. And just when Blaine thought he couldn't handle any more, when his brain was about to go into auto-pilot from the sensory overload…Blaine felt Mike rest his chin ever so gently upon his left shoulder. Blaine stifled a gasp as he turned his head slightly to glance at Mike's face through the eye-slits of his mask. Though he couldn't read Mike's face due to him wearing his mask as well, he _could_ hear his voice quite clearly over the blaring music.  
"…I'm sorry Blaine," Mike whispered into Blaine's ear as he leaned in even closer than before.

Blaine opened his mouth to ask why, but quickly lost his will to speak; his mind was too far gone in ecstasy to be able to utter a single word, let alone a whole question. And it was all because Mike, as discretely as was humanly possible, had begun to let his hands roam away from their initial territories. His right hand slowly crept up Blaine's side until it crossed over reached Blaine's abdomen. It then fell into a comfortable pattern of sliding up and down Blaine's front, from the top of his chest to the bottom of his core. Meanwhile Mike's left hand was content with staying on Blaine's left leg. If anything, it longed to move inwards and soon found itself caressing the inside of Blaine's thigh. Every now and then, Mike's hands would alternate and switch places, trailing off into unexplored and untouched regions of Blaine's torso before returning to the previous nooks and crannies of Blaine's body. But through all the exploring, Mike was certain to avoid hitting the shorter boy's nether region, something that Blaine found himself desperately pining for. Blaine didn't complain though. In fact, he didn't even know why Mike had apologized in the first place. If he could only find the nerves to tell Mike what he was thinking, to say to Mike that this was exactly what he desired and had been craving for the longest time. But in the end, all he could manage was a quiet moan instead of the howl he so desperately wanted to let out.

_The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress  
Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest  
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound  
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallow'd ground  
And howl  
_

The rest of the evening was a blur. Blaine couldn't remember what happened once the song stopped or when they finally pulled themselves apart from each other. He couldn't remember when they got back to the car or what their conversation was about during the ride home (did they even talk at all?). And he definitely couldn't remember if he had even thanked Mike for the entire night. What he _did_ remember was getting home and going straight to his room. He turned on his iPod and speakers and played the last song of the night that Florence had sung. Without wasting a second, he carefully locked his door and unashamedly stripped off all his clothes. By the time he laid down on his bed, he was already shamelessly fondling his aching loin. It was then that he finally realized that he wasn't drunk off alcohol earlier; it was pure, unadulterated lust. Not just any blind lust however; it was an insatiable yearning for the one and only, Mike Chang.

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers  
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to  
__Hunters, hunters,  
__Hunters, hunters_

The music echoed through the room and reverberated throughout his body. Each drum beat strengthened the stroke of his hand and each high note complemented the intensity of his gasps. The song in all its glory was helping Blaine jerk to a steady rhythm, steadily driving himself insane with self-pleasure. By the time Blaine closed his eyes, all he could see was Mike perfectly sculpted body laying right over him, all he could smell was Mike's intoxicating scent drifting through the air, and all he could feel was Mike's fingertips touching him in _all_ the right spots. Biting on his lower lip was all Blaine could do to keep himself from howling out loud.

_A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night  
May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright  
If you could only see the beast you've made of me  
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free  
The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound  
I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground_

At long last, Blaine climaxed with a soft whimper so as to not attract unwanted attention. He laid there light-headed, and realized that this orgasm was more intense (and embarrassingly sooner) than any previous ones he'd had in the past. His hand was still on fire, his mind had been wiped blank, and his torso was damp from his own sweat and essence. Normally, Blaine would revel in the pleasure that comes post-masturbation, but this time he couldn't (or wouldn't?). When his mind finally registered all the events from that night, from start all the way to glorious finish, all he could feel was unease and a hint of shame at the same time. And the worst part was…he couldn't explain why.

Mike was panting like a wolf. His breath came out in short bursts, eventually synchronizing themselves with the rapid beating of his heart. He looked down at himself, drenched with water from the shower, before clenching his eyes tightly in an effort to still his mind and body. When he finally came to, he took the shower head in his left hand and aimed it first at his right hand, before directing it to his loin. A shaky sigh escaped from his lips as he watched the creamy white droplets drip onto the shower floor and flow into the drain. Then, using his big toe, he rubbed away any remaining strands of the sticky fluid that had stuck stubbornly to the tiles. Suddenly feeling extremely tired, embarrassed, and inexplicably anxious, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the shower wall before uttering a lone word.  
"…Fuck."


	5. Speak Softly Love

**Song used in this chapter: Speak Softly Love. It's the theme from the Godfather, and the one done by Andy Williams is a classic. The Italian and the Sicilian versions are also worth a listen.**

* * *

Mike knew he was dreaming again, for two reasons in particular. The first reason was that he was wearing a very snazzy three-piece suit that he definitely did not own in real life. The suit itself was a dark charcoal color, which blended well with the forest green button-up and black skinny tie he was wearing underneath. The ash grey fedora he was wearing on his head was also a nice added touch, definitely characteristic of his fashion sense. But in the end, it did not change the fact that this Armani-inspired outfit was far too luxurious for him to afford in reality. He just wished that he had more time to admire everything he was wearing, from the quality of his shirt to the caliber of his suit jacket, before the crazies started to set in.

The second reason why he knew he was dreaming was because he was taking cover behind a car as some unknown entity was firing upon him with what sounded like a machine gun. He groaned out loud as he pondered how and why he had gotten himself into yet another insane and violent dream.  
"Something wrong boss?" yelled a voice to his left. Mike looked over and saw Finn and Puck hiding behind another car a few feet away. They too were all dressed in spiffy three-piece suits.  
"What the hell are we doing?" Mike shouted back. Finn and Puck dug into the crotch area in the front of their pants, pulled out handguns, and started shooting back at the unknown assailant(s).  
"We're in a shoot-out right now boss, another _famiglia_ is attacking us," said Puck matter-of-factly. He even paused to do the famous Italian shaking hand gesture to accent each syllable of the singular Italian word that he had used.  
"And _why_ are they attacking us?" Mike asked back. He searched around his waist for a weapon of some sort but found nothing. Just his luck.  
"Because of what you did _Don_ Chang!" shouted another voice, this time to Mike's right hand side. Behind yet another car was Sam, Artie, and Rory (again, all decked out in incredibly fashionable suits).  
"And what exactly did I do wrong?" Mike's voice was drowned out by a sudden escalation in gunfire.  
"Hold on _Don _Chang, we'll be right over!" yelled Sam. As fearless as a charging hippopotamus (Mike wasn't sure why he pictured a hippopotamus instead of a rhinoceros), Sam leapt forward and somersaulted from behind his car over to Mike's. A shower of bullets trailed after Sam, but not a single one touched him. Mike was legitimately surprised that Sam's maneuver had actually worked and that he had gotten by unharmed.  
"I'm next, cover me!" Artie shouted as he wheeled forward in his wheelchair. As fast as a charging hippopotamus (again, not sure how that simile made any sense), Artie burst forward with unexpected speed. Yet again, a barrage of gunfire followed after Artie, only to miss him completely. Mike was in awe that a handicapable like Artie could even move that fast, let alone escape unscathed.  
"My turn!" screamed Rory in a thick Irish accent. As graceful as a charging hippopotamus (Mike was questioning his sudden obsession with hippos), Rory sprang forward with tremendous energy…

But Rory didn't make it. Instead he tripped, fell, and was riddled by gunfire. When the tirade of bullets finally stopped a full five minutes later (a bit excessive in Mike's opinion), Rory had been reduced to nothing more than a mass of blood and bones. Mike grimaced with disgust as he ironically realized that hippos weren't all that graceful.  
"You bastards! You killed Kenny!" shouted Finn at the top of his lungs. No one bothered to correct him. "So what exactly did I do to cause all this?" asked Mike as he poked at Rory's remains with a stick he had just found.  
"You don't remember boss?" asked Artie incredulously as he stuffed one hand into his pants, pulled out a large rifle, and started blasting it haphazardly at the other side. Mike shook his head as he watched in disbelief.  
"Well, you basically stole from the _don_ of this _famiglia_," explained Sam as he stuck his hand into his own pants and retrieved additional ammunition for his gun.  
"What did I steal? Can't I just pay him back? Looks like I'm some rich mafia boss right?"  
"You can't exactly pay him back for this, it's a very personal _famiglia _matter" answered Puck. He crammed his hand into his pants, jiggled around his crotch area for a bit, and procured a grenade which he proceeded to lob to the other side of the street.  
Mike had to yell over the sound of the resultant explosion. "And why not? Just tell me what it was!"  
"…You kind of fondled and molested the other _famiglia's _second-in-command," Finn replied hesitantly. "In mafia code…that means you claimed the guy as your _own_ second-in-command. He's basically your bitch." Finn ended his explanation by pulling out a full bottle of wine from his pants, which he chugged from before passing around.  
"Ok, how the fuck do you guys store so much shit in your pants?" Mike knew he probably should have prioritized a different, more pressing question, but he just had to get that one out first. "And I did _what_?"  
"You basically raped _Don _Hummel's underboss. With your clothes still on. Or at least…that's what I _think_ molested means, right?" Finn looked questioningly at Puck for confirmation. Puck shrugged.  
Mike's eyes widened as everything began to sink in. "_Don_ Hummel? You mean…_Kurt_ Hummel?" He didn't even need to hear their answer to realize where his dream was headed. The boys all nodded grimly as they continued to pull lewd amounts of weapons out of their pants.  
"And would you stop doing that?" Mike commanded as he tried to swat the boys' hands away from their groins.  
"But Mike, how else are they to fight?" The question came from a new voice, not belonging to any one of his subordinates (or sub-_bro_-dinates). But Mike recognized the voice. It was too sing-songy to mistake for anyone else's. As soon as he realized who it was, he started banging his head against a nearby car door in a desperate effort to wake up. His efforts were in vain however, as Blaine had miraculously arrived from out of nowhere.

"You guys seriously aren't surprised by this?" Mike asked the other guys as Blaine joined their huddle behind the now ravaged car. "How he just magically apparated out of nowhere, like Harry Potter?" The other boys continued their shoot-out without answering him.  
"It's ok Mike, at least we're together now," said Blaine soothingly as he ran a comforting hand up and down Mike's back. Even though he knew it was all a dream, he couldn't deny the warm tingle he felt from that simple gesture.  
"A–Alright then, so what am I supposed to do now? Apologize and 'return you' to Kurt?" Mike felt kind of weird phrasing the question like that, but there really was no other way of putting it.  
"No! I'm tired of–"  
"Living a lie, I know I know."  
"Right! So all you got to do now is have–"  
"Courage, got it."  
"Exactly! Because if you don't, you'll end up in the–"  
"DANGER ZONE!" sang all of the boys spontaneously, in the trademark falsetto voice.  
"But seriously," said Blaine as his face suddenly turned solemn. "You know you have the _power_ to end this…"  
"I know. No need to show–" But Blaine was already kneading his crotch seductively before Mike could finish his statement. Mike sighed as he reluctantly put his own hand down into the depths of his nether area.  
"What the FUCK Mike! Are you touching yourself?" yelled Puck as he looked on.  
"Oh come on Mike, can't you do that shit later?" Sam asked disgustedly. Finn and Artie were making exaggerated gagging faces.  
"Yeah Michael, some decency please?" Blaine asked indignantly as he joined the rest of the group in reprimanding Mike. Mike's mouth dropped open in disbelief.  
"Seriously? _Seriously_? You've all been doing this the _whole_ time and NOW you have a problem with it?" The entire group just shook their heads at Mike as they continued to make judgmental comments about his supposed inappropriate urges. Mike wanted to argue with them but decided it was no use arguing with his dream, especially if it was just going to keep trolling him. Instead, he continued to rummage his hand around his crotch area until he finally felt the cold metallic touch of a weapon. Without hesitating, he grabbed it and hoisted it out of his pants. To everyone's amazement (himself included), he was brandishing a massive rocket launcher half his height in his hands.  
"Good God," Blaine whispered before fainting from un-dapper thoughts. Mike smirked as he stood up confidently, braced the oversized gun along his right arm, and fired.

Mike was never good at first person shooter games. Unfortunately, Mike remembered this fact a little too late and watched with horror as the rocket propelled itself in the _opposite_ direction that he had intended. The missile flew directly into the building behind them, exploded, and caused the massive walls to come crumbling down on him, effectively waking Mike up from his dream. Mike groaned in pain as he woke up to several of his textbooks falling on his face. He groggily pushed his massive Chemistry text off his nose and slid his Calculus book aside before sitting himself up. After mentally scolding himself for knowing better than to perch his textbooks on his bed's shelf, Mike tried to recall the entirety of his most recent dream. Deep down, Mike knew his dreams were sending him some vague, but important message. And though he was no Freud, he knew he needed to confront their symbolic meaning sooner or later. Perhaps it was his guilty subconscious nagging him about not trying to help Blaine repair his relationship with Kurt? Or maybe it was his conscience suggesting that he had been spending too much time with Blaine in general? Whatever his dreams were saying to him though, he knew he had to take care of one thing first: properly apologize to Blaine about his…'dancing' at the concert last Friday. Blaine had certainly wanted to dance and had even requested it of him. But Mike was pretty sure what ended up happening wasn't what Blaine had in mind, even if the experience itself was enjoyable, and the post-experience…

Mike felt his face grow hot at the memory of what he did _after_ he got home. He had spent all weekend trying to rationalize what could have possessed him to indulge in such a behavior. Not that the act itself was uncommon for Mike (though he'd never tell anyone, he was actually a once-daily kind of guy). It was just that the subject of his fantasy was completely unprecedented in every possible way. Never before had he thought of a _guy_ while doing the deed, let alone Blaine. And never mind what his fantasy may have implied about his…orientation, what did it say about his break-up with Tina? Was it that easy for his mind to get over a year-long relationship? Had she really not meant that much to him as he thought she did? Why did he waste all of her time then? The thought of how shallow he must've looked made him cringe with shame.

But back to the matter at hand: apologizing to Blaine. He wasn't sure how to go about it. He wasn't even sure where to begin. Should he first apologize for molesting Blaine? Or should he apologize for treating Blaine like his rebound, especially now that Blaine knew that he was no longer with Tina? It might even be best to apologize for taking Blaine to the concert in the first place. Because try as he might to deny it, the entire night must've seemed like one glorified date to Blaine, and that hadn't been Mike's intention at all. Not that Mike had anything against Blaine or gay people for that matter. It was just…Mike had never before considered the possibility of himself swinging that way. He didn't want to get the boy's hopes up over what probably was an act of 'alcohol'. Leading Blaine on like that, unintentional or not, would just be cruel. Mike sighed dejectedly after realizing that for all the thinking he had been doing, he still hadn't made any concrete progress. He'd just have to deal with it after morning practice, hoping that some good ole football would help clear his mind. But as he stepped outside his house, rain started pouring down. Definitely not a good omen.

Practice was brutal. Coach Beiste had decided that a rainy day like today would be a great occasion for working on evasive maneuvers, which Mike generally excelled at. But the rain allowed for the much heavier members to get a firm foothold in the mud, which in turn allowed them to blast forward with extra speed and power when they took off running. On any other day, Mike could have easily avoided 80-90% of incoming tackles. But in the rain, his swiftness was rendered useless in light of his teammates' brute force. Add to that his distracted mindset and Mike ended up not being able to dodge a single tackle that entire practice. In just one hour, Mike had been slammed to the ground and knocked off his feet over fifty times, and each one hurt just as much if not more than the previous one. He was sprawled flat on the field by the end of practice, writhing in pain and agony.  
"Not a good day Chang, _not_ a good day at all!" roared Coach Beiste as she stood towering over him. She looked down on him and didn't bother extending a hand to help him up.  
"My bad coach…" Mike managed to say in between groans of dull pain.  
"Damn right it's your bad! Your piss poor performance today made you look like the midget in a litter of overgrown hogs fighting for the 13th nipple on the underside of a lactating hippo!" Coach Beiste hollered at the top of her lungs before storming away. Mike just laid flat on the turf and savored the meager relief that the pouring rain brought.

By the time Mike got himself to his feet and into the locker room, most of the team had already left. There were only a few stragglers left, none of whom were people Mike often talked to. It was just how Mike liked it though. He wanted to shower and change in peace with none of his teammates hassling him about why he sucked so much today. After checking to make sure that no one was left in the shower area, he quickly stripped down to his trunks, stepped into a shower stall, and turned on the water. Working nimbly but thoroughly, he scrubbed every patch of hair on his body and every inch of his torso from top to bottom. In the process, he couldn't help but notice the multiple bruises that were beginning to darken in sporadic locations along his body. He even had a few cuts here and there, including one over his right cheekbone that stung slightly, but wasn't too bothersome thankfully. Mike sighed as he finished showering in silence, sullen that he was so badly battered today and it wasn't even 8AM yet. What made it worse was knowing that he still had a full day of school to get through, that the hits would just keep on coming. And he _still_ hadn't figured out how to apologize to Blaine.

Having made no progress by lunch on formulating his apology, Mike decided that he would go tell Mr. Schuester that he would be skipping glee club today to run important errands. He couldn't stand the prospect of having to face Blaine with nothing coherent or appropriate to say, so running away actually seemed like the better alternative. It seemed karma was out to get him however, since finding Mr. Schuester proved impossible. He had all but given up after checking Mr. Schuester's office, when a soft voice coming from the choir room beckoned him to stay a while. An all too familiar voice, singing an all too poignant song.

_Speak softly love and hold me warm against your heart  
I feel your words, the tender trembling moments start  
We're in a world, our very own  
Sharing our love that only few have ever known_

Mike stood still to appreciate the gentle lyrics, though his feet itched to dance. Had he the courage to move, he would've walked right into the choir room and start waltzing around the room to the accompaniment of that serene voice. But Mike knew he shouldn't, especially since the person singing would've probably preferred an apology over a display of fancy footwork. And so Mike didn't. Instead, he continued to listen as the voice whispered about wine-colored days warmed by the sun, and crooned about deep velvet nights when two become one.

At any other given moment, a song sung so beautifully would be inspirational. At this moment, the allure of the music was just torture. And so against his better judgment, Mike decided that he couldn't let such a sweet serenade go to waste. His compromise: he would just dance in the shadows of the private office and the singer in the other room would never know the difference. He started with slow, languid steps around the office, as if courting an imaginary partner. As the song picked up in pitch, Mike pulled his hands free of his pockets and did a soft twirl across the floor before stepping into a firm lunge. Pretending that he was now embracing his make-believe dance partner, he envisioned one of his hands bracing the other's back of while his other hand leisurely crept up his partner's outstretched leg. After holding the stance for a brief pause, giving him a moment to engrave the scene into his memory for future use, Mike resumed a leisurely waltz as the song slowly summoned his attention once more.

_Speak softly love so no one hears us but the sky  
The vows of love we make will live until we die  
My life is yours–_

As the voice rose in intensity, while still remaining as lovely as ever, Mike leaned forward and pretended to ease his invisible partner into a low, low dip. Though his hands held nothing but empty air, Mike could feel the strain on his arm and the weight on his legs, as if he really were supporting the weight of someone right now. He snapped out of his reverie as the voice hit an even higher, more powerful note.

_And all because!  
You came into my world with love…_

The voice trailed off. Mike definitely didn't know the lyrics to this song by heart. He had seen _The Godfather_ once or twice, but that was the extent of his exposure to this melody. Nonetheless, he felt as if there were some words missing to that last line. Actually, he _knew _there were words missing. So he listened for a few seconds, to see if the other person would finish singing. But seconds passed and nothing came and Mike was left wanting more, a closure of sorts to the enchanting tune. Urged on by a strange sense of obsession, he pulled out his iPhone and began searching for the lyrics. It wasn't long before he found those final words and in a moment of daringness, Mike softly whispered them: "_So softly love_."

Mike regretted it instantly.  
"I knew you knew the words," called out the voice from the other room. Mike cursed himself under his breath. He _thought_ he had used his almost mute/shy Asian voice, but it seemed like the singer had an acute sense of hearing in addition to his perfect pitch. Not wanting a confrontation, Mike started to tip-toe quietly towards the doorway leading to the hall.  
"You know, I could hear your feet shuffling around while you danced. And right now, I can hear you attempting to escape." Mike could hear the amusement in the person's voice. He had to think of an excuse to get out quick.  
"It's uh, it's me…Brittany," Mike said in a high-pitched voice. "Just, practicing my dance moves!" Mike shook his head in disbelief as he thought to himself "_What the fuck am I doing_?"  
Genuine laughter filled the room. "Mike, just come in here already." But there was no way he was going to get caught like this. Not in the unprepared state that he was in. Overcome by desperation, Mike got on all fours and scrambled to hide underneath Mr. Schuester's desk. It was the only place that could hide his 6'0 frame, and not a moment too soon either. He heard footsteps come into the office mere seconds after he had ducked out of view.  
"Seriously Mike? Are you hiding from me?" Mike could feel himself holding his breath, praying for the person to go away. No such luck however, as the footsteps circled around the table and stood before the opening in the desk. Mike let out a defeated sigh as Blaine poked his head into his hiding spot.  
"Will you come out now?" he asked in such a complacent tone that Mike couldn't tell if he was secretly irritated or not.

Blaine led the way back to the choir room with Mike grudgingly in tow.  
"So Mike, I wanted to ask you about some…stuff," said Blaine as he walked towards the shelves in the front of the room. Mike winced at the thought of what was coming up next. He still didn't have an apology or an excuse ready but if this was how it was going to play out, so be it. He had a feeling Blaine wasn't going to like what he had to say though.  
"Look Blaine, I just wanted to–"  
"Hold on Mike," Blaine interrupted. He pulled out a massive book from one of the shelves and sat down on the floor. "Come look at this!" The boy seemed more excited than pissed. Somewhat perplexed, Mike toddled towards him, too hesitant to sit down quite yet.  
"What are we looking at?" Mike asked quizzically.  
"You," Blaine said simply as he opened the book. "Specifically, you as a sophomore and junior." It was then that Mike recognized the book: they were looking through an album of glee club pictures from the last two years. He could feel himself smiling tenderly as he looked at the photos from some of his favorite performances.  
"You guys are _so_ lucky you got to dress up for your performances instead of wearing dreary uniforms. I mean, just _look_ at you in that cowboy getup. So handsome…" Blaine's last few words trailed off as he blushed furiously. Mike chuckled and pretended not to notice. Instead, he recalled how much fun it had been to perform "Last Name" with the fabulous April Rhodes.  
"The best part is we got to keep some of the stuff for ourselves," Mike said nostalgically as he finally lost his inhibition and sat himself down next to the younger boy. "I still have the cowboy hat from that."  
Blaine smiled fondly as he flipped through the pages delicately. "And what were you guys doing here?"

The two of them spent all of their lunch break looking through all of New Directions' past songs, from their major public performances to the smaller ones done in the comfort of their choir room. Blaine asked about nearly every single picture and Mike found himself telling stories upon stories about the past two years: how the football boys first joined the club, how the boys got doped up on pseudophedrine, how they improvised their entire performance for their first sectionals, how he scored a +11 on the Glee Hot List, how he cried when glee club almost got terminated, how he might've set off a 'sex riot' with his choreography for "Toxic", how his first time singing for glee club was about how he _couldn't_ sing (followed by how he actually got to sing two lines during Burt and Carol's wedding), how he rocked P.Y.T. with Artie, how he went from 'Belieber' to 'Brainiac', and how he fell in love with New York City during their less than stellar performance at Nationals.  
"Well aren't you talkative today," said Blaine offhandedly as lunch drew to a close.  
Mike smiled sincerely. "Yeah well, don't get used to it." Mike stood up and extended a helping hand to help Blaine off the floor. "What got you so interested in all this anyways?"  
"I just thought it'd be nice to catch up on some of the stuff that you guys have been through, seeing as how I'm already behind on all the inside jokes and stuff. Just wanted to fit in better you know?" Blaine placed the album back onto the shelf. "And I was kind of interested in what _you_ had to say specifically. Since you know, you don't say much in the first place."  
Mike cocked his eyebrow in suspicion. "And why's my perspective any more interesting than anyone else's?"  
"Because you're my friend," Blaine explained simply as he walked to the back of the room to pick up his backpack. "Well even more so now. Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks again for taking me to the concert last Friday."

Mike's face went stoic. His throat dried up and his body froze in place. His mind had been so at ease the entire lunch period that he had momentarily forgotten what had been troubling him all day and all weekend. But the time had come, and his apology had to come now or never.  
"About that concert Blaine…" Mike started reluctantly.  
"Yeah?"  
"Well I…I just wanted to apologize for what happened. At the end. I didn't mean to…touch you like that." Mike struggled to say the last few words.  
"Oh it's ok Mike. Didn't even notice it," Blaine lied cheerfully (his face was already blushing from the mere thought of the night). Mike would've been glad to have dropped the topic right then and there. But he knew better than to just take the easy way out. It'd come back to bite him later if he did. Plus, it wasn't in his personality to pretend like he had done nothing wrong.  
"I mean, I _wish_ it were ok. But I think…I think I took advantage of the situation."  
"It was a concert and we were in the center of a mosh pit, we were bound to be all up against each other," said Blaine reassuringly. "Seriously Mike, don't worry–"  
"But it's not that. It's…" Mike paused to take a deep breath as he got ready to get into the complicated details. "I just…I think I just wanted some company after my break-up."  
"Well that's understandable." Blaine still looked perfectly at ease while Mike's face was creased in discomfort.  
"And when I asked you to go, especially right after your own break-up…" Mike wasn't sure where he was going with this. It would've helped if he had been a good impromptu speaker, if he could just make up something right now to close up the increasingly awkward conversation. But he couldn't. Instead, he became increasingly annoyed with himself for not being able to just say what needed to be said.  
"I'm not sure I get what you're trying to say." A hint of worry was affecting Blaine's voice now, a hint to Mike that he should wrap this up quickly.  
"…I didn't mean to lead you on," Mike whispered quietly under his breath as he picked up his backpack and turned to leave.  
"What was that?" Blaine asked anxiously. But Mike didn't stop. He was ten steps from the exit.  
"Nothing."  
"No, what'd you say?" Blaine persisted. Mike still didn't stop. Five steps from the exit.  
"I said nothing."  
"Please Mike, you can just tell me," insisted Blaine. Mike was just a step away from the exit.  
"Nothing at all."  
And then Blaine said the words that made Mike stop in his tracks. "Something…about leading me on?" Mike let out an audible sigh as he finally turned back to face the other boy.  
Blaine smiled feebly, relieved that he now had the chance to set things straight. "You know, it's not like you're actually leading me on or anything. I know you're as straight as they come," Blaine joked weakly. "Right Mike?" But Mike didn't say anything back.  
"Right?" Still no response.

It was Blaine's turn to feel slightly distressed. The bell had just rung, but the two of them were still standing in the middle of the choir room, on the verge of something potentially life-changing…or so it felt that way to Blaine.  
"What are you Mike?" Blaine knew it was a touchy question, one that might offend the taller boy or even ruin their friendship. But he just had to ask.  
Mike's face remained expressionless. "What do you mean?"  
"I mean, what _are_ you Mike? Are you…you know, _straight_?" Blaine had asked that question many a time before, since he found it more informative than his dysfunctional gay-dar. He knew it was blunt and unrefined, and he tended to save such a method for when the stakes were much smaller. But when it came to Mike…he just needed to know for certain. If there _was_ a chance, if there was any hope at all that Mike could reciprocate his 'tiny' crush, then Blaine needed to know for sure.  
"Or does that mean you're bisexual?" Blaine asked when he saw Mike's hesitance in replying. "I mean I don't judge either way, considering what I am after all."  
"I'm…" Mike stalled as he pondered how to answer the question. He wanted to give a resolute response, one that showed how sure he was of what he was saying, since it seemed like he owed Blaine that much.  
"You're…?" Blaine asked encouragingly. He normally wouldn't have wanted to push such a sensitive subject like this. He knew coming out was never an easy feat, especially if it was to a friend you barely knew. But the prospect of what could happen next if Mike really wasn't straight convinced him that the ends justified his means.

Mike looked at Blaine apologetically.  
"I'm just a dancer," Mike said softly, as if he wanted no one to hear him. "Just…an ordinary dancer. Nothing more, nothing less."  
"Wait, that doesn't answer–"  
"And you?" Mike cut off Blaine before he could finish protesting. "You already know that you're an extraordinary singer. That's all there is to it." Mike backed out of the classroom with a weak shrug before blending into a passing crowd. Blaine stared blankly into the hallway, waiting for his sudden trembling to subside. He had been so hopeful moments earlier; now, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel.


	6. Shy That Way

**Song used in this chapter: Shy That Way – Tristan Prettyman ft. Jason Mraz. The Clara C ft. Joseph Vincent cover on YouTube is pretty damn good too.**

* * *

Finn fidgeted nervously in his seat. He kept his gaze to the floor, as if making eye contact was forbidden.  
"So how about it Finn? Will you help me?" Finn hesitated to answer, causing Blaine to sigh out loud. For a towering giant, it seemed ironic that someone of Blaine's short stature could actually make Finn feel uncomfortable. Then again, Finn always had trouble with this kind of stuff.  
"I don't know Blaine, I don't think I'm the right person for this…"  
"But you _are_ though! I mean you're the club captain, no one can say no to you."  
"Rachel does. All the time."  
"Ok, yes…but that's probably because you keep asking her to put out for you or something."  
"B–Blaine!" Finn started to protest, but Blaine gave him that knowing look that shuts up any guilty person. Finn sheepishly nodded in admission.  
"Anyways, we're not dealing with Rachel. So please help me out?" Blaine looked at Finn hopefully. For an added touch of sincerity, he tried doing his puppy eyes but realized a bit late that it only served to make Finn more uncomfortable.  
"I don't know…shouldn't you be talking to Sam about this or something? He's closer to _him _after all."  
"Already considered that, but he's just not tall enough," Blaine said resignedly. "Well, I guess if you really don't want to…" Blaine turned around and started walking away dejectedly.

Finn wasn't sure why he felt so guilty all of a sudden. After all, he had no cause for seriously considering Blaine's request. In fact, he was pretty he had every motivation to do the opposite of what Blaine was trying to do, or at least to stay on Kurt's good side. Nevertheless, guilt panged at his heartstrings and being the happy-go-lucky kind of guy that he was, Finn decided that it couldn't hurt _too _much to lend a helping hand. After all, it wasn't that big a request…it was just peculiar.  
"Fine, I'll do it," Finn said reluctantly. Blaine spun around and grinned broadly.  
"Thanks Finn, I knew you'd come through!"  
"Yeah alright. But…"  
"But what?"  
"Be careful, I guess."  
"Careful about what?"  
Finn paused to think for a second. "Not really sure. I just get this…weird feeling that you should be careful though."  
Blaine looked at him with a baffled expression and silently mouthed, "Will do."  
"Oh, and Blaine?"  
"Yes?"  
"It's not that no one can say no to me. It's more like, no one can say no to _you_." Finn tried to sound thoughtful, inspirational almost. It was his job to motivate his team members after all. "There's just something about you…"  
"My puppy eyes?" Blaine started to contort his face into said expression again.  
"Puppy eyes? No, they kind of freaked me out actually," Finn said flatly.

It was the end of a long day and Mike was looking forward to a relaxing walk home in the cool, autumn weather. He finished gathering his books from his locker and turned around to face his companions for the journey home.  
"Ready to go?"  
"Ready," chimed Sam and Artie in unison. Lately, the three of them had started walking home together, especially after Sam and Mike caught Artie struggling to wheel home in the pouring rain the other day. It was a weird trifecta, one that stood in stark contrast to the 'Unholy Trinity' of Quinn, Santana, and Brittany, but it worked just as well if not less maliciously. And as all boys were apt to do, the three of them bonded over matters of great consequence…like food and TV shows.

Today's burning issue: video games.  
"So…you guys play any RPG's?" Sam asked out of the blue as they walked down a long corridor.  
"Final Fantasy," Mike said immediately.  
"World of Warcraft," Artie countered readily.  
"…Dungeons and Dragons?" said Sam hesitantly. This was the first time the three of them had three entirely different takes on the same topic. Had they all been hardcore, devoted gamers, the conversation might have quickly descended into a bloodbath. Luckily, their bromance was strong enough to prevent an all-out melee and they ended up having a good laugh instead.  
"So I guess the walk home is going to be spent talking about the merits of each series?" Mike asked eagerly.  
"We _could_ do that. But I was thinking of something else…" Sam smiled mischievously.  
"You don't mean…" Artie's eyes widened in surprise.  
"Could it be?" Mike couldn't hide the excitement from his voice.  
"Yes. Yes I mean it, and yes it is," Sam explained triumphantly. "Why don't we…_pretend we're in a live-action RPG_?" All three boys started fangirl-ing (fanboy-ing?) and squealed hysterically.  
"Henceforth, I will be known as…CLOUD STRIFE," Sam declared proudly. Mike and Artie nodded in profound agreement. Sam's dirty blonde hair made him perfect for the role.  
"Who should I be?" Mike asked next.  
"You can be Mike," the other two answered in chorus.  
"…You mean myself?" Mike asked to see if he had heard them correctly. "Wait that doesn't even make sense–" Mike stopped talking when he noticed the other two were blatantly ignoring him.  
"And me?" asked Artie.  
"You can be all the monsters and bosses we have to fight during our journey. Because, you know, you're in a wheelchair and so you look like half a monster anyways." Artie did a double-take at Sam's insensitive rationale, but let it go without much protest.  
"Onwards Mike, to the final dungeon!" Sam roared as he whipped out a ruler from his backpack and brandished it like a short sword.  
"Wait, the final dungeon already? That's too fast!"  
"Yeah, but we got to keep the plot moving quickly or we'll get home before we finish the storyline…"  
"I guess…" said Mike uncertainly as he dragged out his own ruler.  
"Mike loses 5 health points," said Sam in a mechanical tone.  
"Wait what? And where'd Artie go?" Mike looked around, legitimately surprised at how Artie had managed to disappear in the span of a few seconds.  
"Mike loses 5 more health points. And why would a monster announce to you where it's hiding?" asked Sam with a hint of superiority in his voice. "It wants to ambush you, you lowlife who will never amount to anything!"  
"D–did you just call me a lowlife?" Mike asked incredulously. He wasn't sure he liked Sam's alternate personality.  
"5 MORE HEALTH POINTS!"  
"WHY DO I KEEP LOSING HEALTH POINTS?"  
"You improperly equipped your sword, you lowlife," Sam said indifferently. Mike looked at the ruler he held in his hand and realized that he must've been holding his 'sword' by the sharp, metal blade instead of by the hilt.  
"But that seems so arbitrary…" he whispered.  
"5 MORE HEALTH–"  
"ALRIGHT ALREADY!"

Mike and Sam traversed down the long hallways of McKinley High, keeping their 'blades' at the ready. "It's quiet," noted Mike. "Almost…too quiet."  
"Silence you lowlife!" roared Sam, his voice completely antithetical to his command.  
"BACK ATTACK!" The two boys spun around to face the oncoming assailant (who for some reason, decided it would be a good idea to announce his presence and thereby look the element of surprise). Sure enough, there was Artie wearing the grotesque zombie mask he had gotten last year for their big "Thriller/Heads Will Roll" number.  
"What do we do Sam?" asked Mike in feigned alarm.  
"Call me Cloud you fool! And don't panic, this guy is the penultimate boss!"  
"Well if he's the second to last boss, doesn't that imply he's pretty strong? Wouldn't that be good cause for panic–"  
"Your mundane grievances bore me. Speak no further lowlife!" Mike sighed and face-palmed.  
"Mike takes 5 points of self-damage from face-palming."  
"What!"  
"Cloud flees from battle."  
"You can't run from a boss battle!"  
"Boss deals instant KO to Mike."  
"That's not even fair!"  
"Artie joins the party."  
"Enemies can't just join your team in the middle of a battle!" Mike started to laugh from the absurdity of it all. It still amazed how Sam, Artie, and himself could play off each other's jokes perfectly and in such rapid-fire succession.  
"What is _wrong_ with you boys?" All three boys froze in place. They slowly turned around to face the new challenger.  
"Oh God no…" murmured Artie.  
"The final boss already huh?" Mike's face hardened into a determined stare.  
"There it is: Satan-na." Sam courageously stepped forward.  
"_What_ did you just call me?" asked Santana, her voice full of spite. Brittany was a few steps behind her, her mouth agape with awe.  
"Listen up you lowlifes who will never amount to anything." Sam was addressing Artie and Mike as the lowlifes for some reason, and not Santana. "This is the final battle. She and her evil minion are the only things standing between us, and salvation. Whatever happens here, I just want you both to know that it was an honor to fight alongside you both."  
"Yeah alright, but can you stop calling me a lowlife?" Mike jokingly pouted. Santana had no clue what was going on, but didn't particularly care to find out. She shook her head dismissively.  
"Let's go Brittany. Don't want them infecting us with…Brittany?" Santana had turned around, only to find that she was standing alone.  
"Brittany joins the party!" declared the boys in harmony. Santana spun back to face the group. Sure enough, there was Brittany, standing amongst the group of boys.  
"Aim for her under-boob, it's her weak spot," advised Brittany.

Mike relished afternoons like these. Glee club was fun and all, but the rehearsals often provided another source of stress for him to pile on top of his football practices, his grades, his college applications…his little problem with Blaine. It was these casual moments of friendship and enjoyment of one another's mere presence, where good laughs came spontaneously and personal stories were shared freely, that rejuvenated Mike. But in the back of his mind, he knew these moments were limited. He was a senior after all, and come graduation next semester, he'd no longer be able to experience these idyllic high school scenes. The thought bothered him, almost as much as his unresolved issue with Blaine.  
"I wonder what it's going to be like once us seniors are gone," Mike muttered pensively as he looked down at the leaf-littered lawn outside Sam's house. Sam waved goodbye to them from his porch and entered his house.  
"I try not to think about it too much," said Artie as the two of them started walking down the street. "It's kind of depressing."  
"Yeah but, it's coming up pretty soon."  
"True that…speaking of which, how are apps coming along?" Artie didn't want to linger on the idea of graduation too long. It made him feel a little empty inside when he thought of how the glee club would literally be cut in half once the seniors left.  
"They're coming along. The University of California apps are due at the end of this month and all the Ivy Leagues are due on New Year's Day."  
"Any other ones you looking at?"  
"Yeah you know, some of the other big privates as well: Stanford, Duke, etc."  
"Seems like a lot doesn't it?" Artie always knew Mike had an impressive record, but the fact that he had a serious chance of getting into all of these prestigious schools made him downright intimidating now.  
"Oh I'm not applying to _all_ of the UC's or _all_ of the Ivy's; just the ones I really like."  
"Which also happen to be the hardest ones to get into, I assume."

Mike didn't answer. He hated talking about college applications, because they seemed to be so intricately intertwined with so many of his personal issues: problems with his parents, problems with self-image, and most recently problems with Tina. Because when it came down to it, he had used college applications as his major reason for breaking up with Tina. He had said that with all of the work he'd be taking on this year, he just wouldn't be able to devote the amount of time to Tina that she so rightfully deserved. And Tina, ever so sweet Tina…she just smiled sweetly and said she completely understood. So it was a mutual break up, one that should've left no hard feelings for either of them. And yet it didn't feel that way to Mike. In his mind, he knew Tina had every right to resent him for the way he just…gave up so easily.  
"Have you talked to Tina recently?" Mike asked Artie carefully. Artie looked a bit surprised. "I mean, on a personal level."  
"Well, yeah I guess…" Artie seemed a little uncertain, but Mike looked at Artie expectantly. Artie let out a soft sigh as he started telling Mike what he wanted to know. "She's hurt, obviously. But she's putting up a pretty good front about not taking it _too_ hard."  
"I've noticed. But I mean, has she said anything about–"  
"She'll be fine in the long run though, she said it herself. It's just that, she didn't find your reason for breaking up all too convincing." Mike winced at this. Even he didn't find his own logic all that compelling either, but he didn't know how to explain it any better back then.  
"So what'd she say about it then?"  
"She said, and I'm quoting her directly here: Mike is the most incredible man I've ever met, borderline superman. Sure he may struggle with some stuff, but in the end, he can do anything he puts his mind and effort into. It's just a matter of whether he really wants it or not." The two moved along in silence for a while as Mike thought about what Tina was implying.

"…So she basically thinks I could've kept the relationship going, despite how crazy busy I am this semester. That is, if I really wanted to." Mike took Artie's silence as an affirmation. And deep inside, Mike kind of knew it was true too.  
"…What do you think Artie?"  
"Think of you?" he asked quietly. "I think you're pretty amazing too Mike, when one considers everything you've done and everything you're doing right now. Doesn't change the fact that you're still a teenager though."  
"You don't think I'm kind of shady then? I mean, considering what Tina thinks of me…"  
Artie shrugged. "Well, it might be sort of shady that you're not completely honest about the reason for the break up. But it's not like anyone's going to fault you for breaking up though. We're teenagers after all, these things come and go. Hell, it's a miracle you two even lasted that long!" Artie said with a reassuring smirk. Mike smiled back feebly. It's true that he hadn't been honest about why they broke up. But it was also true that he still didn't know the real reason.  
"I suppose so," Mike said finally, as he straightened himself up. "But you know, I guess that means it's totally OK for you to make a move on Tina, now that I'm finally out of the picture," he teased playfully. He didn't want to dampen the mood any further, especially after all the fun they had earlier.  
"Whatchu say boy?" Artie said in his sassy voice. Mike just grinned goofily as he started to push Artie's wheelchair down the sidewalk at top speed, causing his fellow friend to squeal like an obnoxious schoolgirl on a roller coaster. As the two of them jetted down the street, the cool breeze blowing through their hair, Mike thought to himself about just how much he'd miss these high school days, for better or worse.

The next day was for the most part, uneventful for Mike. He did fine in football practice, classes went by smoothly, and he was even able to have a normal conversation with Tina without becoming overwhelmed with guilt or shame. Of course, he was still doing his best to avoid Blaine, as he had been all week since their last conversation. That also meant skipping glee club all week. Thankfully, Mr. Schuester was understanding.  
"Just come back when you're ready, I know this is a really stressful time for you," said his teacher when Mike told him his reasons. And Mike agreed: he'd come back once he was ready to face Blaine again. In the meantime, it meant that he could spend that one hour after school normally reserved for glee club doing homework or college apps until Sam and Artie got out. He had been on his way to the library to do just that, when someone called out to him.  
"Hey Mike! Come over here for a sec." Mike slowed down to a stop to see who was calling for him. He turned around and found Finn in the choir room, motioning for him to come in. Being the cautious ninja that he was, Mike scanned both ends of the long hallway for any traces of Blaine before he figured it was safe to enter.  
"What's up Finn?" Mike asked nonchalantly.  
"Oh you know, just haven't seen you around glee club lately. Missed you, you know?" Finn was clearly uneasy, as well as standing awkwardly still in the middle of the room.  
"We see each other at football practice…everyday."  
"…Right. Well you know, guess I just can't get enough of you Changster," Finn joked nervously. Mike was instantly suspicious. _No one_ had called him Changster since…two years ago? Something was definitely off.  
"Are you alright Finn? You seem a little…tense." Tense was an understatement. He looked like a bloated baby.  
"Yeahhh man, I'm cool. I just wanted to check in on you, that's all." Mike mouthed a silent 'Ok…' as he began to back away towards the exit. Finn, sensing that he was about to lose the other boy, decided to skip ahead several lines in his pre-meditated script.  
"So how about a duet?"  
Mike scoffed at the suggestion. "Nice try Finn, but the last time we did a duet, you did all the singing while I had to drill you on the choreography for weeks. _Weeks_." Mike shuddered as he recalled how frustrating it was to train Finn to get the "I've Gotta Be Me" routine right.  
"Don't worry about the dancing Mike, just focus on the vocals this time," coaxed Finn.  
"I don't know Finn, I'm pretty busy with apps and all that…"  
"Come on Mike, just one duet. You won't even have to perform in front of the rest of the club!"  
"So what's the point of it then?"  
"…Stress relief?" He smiled sweetly, as if to offset the dumbness of his response. Mike sighed. _This_ was already more stress than it was worth, and so he decided it was better to just give in for now. How bad could it be to indulge in a little duet?  
"Fine Finn. What did you have in mind for us?"  
"Right. So technically, I never said this duet was for _us_…"

Finn was visibly uncomfortable again. After taking a deep breath, he took a large step to the side to reveal a nervous-looking Blaine. From the looks of it, he had been standing in Finn's shadow the entire time.  
"On second thought..." Mike spun around quickly and sprang for the door.  
"Cover the doorway Finn!" Blaine ordered frantically. In a flash, Finn had his entire body barring Mike's exit. "And lock the door too Finn."  
"Wait, I don't how to lock them." From the confusion in his voice, Mike knew he wasn't joking.  
"Damn, me neither," Blaine swore aloud. Seeing that the other door was wide open, Mike started running towards it. Surprisingly, Blaine beat him to it.  
"Look Blaine, I got to go–"  
"It's _just_ a duet Mike," Blaine told him soothingly. "We're just going to practice singing, that's all. We don't even have to talk about anything else." Blaine started approaching Mike, but the taller boy cowered away like an injured animal (Blaine wondered if intimidating bigger guys was a new skill he had unintentionally acquired). In desperation, Blaine shot Finn a pleading look, signaling for him to intervene in some way.  
"Look, guys, I don't know what's up between you two. But I guess as club captain or whatever, I have to make sure we're a close-knit, forgiving kind of family. So come on Mike, won't you just give Blaine another chance? For whatever he did?"  
"But it's not what he–"  
"Yeah Mike, to make up for what I did. That's all I'm asking for," Blaine pleaded. He put on his puppy eyes for good measure.  
Mike cocked his head to one side as he began examining Blaine's facial expression. "What are you doing with your eyes? It looks…_creepy_."  
"Yeah man, that's what I told him earlier but he didn't believe me." Finn walked up next to Mike and joined him in scrutinizing Blaine's face.  
"Looks like he had a stroke or something."  
"Nah, more like lazy eye."  
"_Anyways_," interrupted Blaine. "Can we just do this one duet? That's it, nothing else."  
Mike sighed in resignation. "…What did you have in mind?"

After Finn left, Mike began to look over the lyrics as Blaine waited for his approval.  
"By the way, I think you should do the girl parts," said Blaine. Mike shrugged in indifference. He didn't think it mattered…but was quickly proved wrong.  
"_You know you're stunning, you're absolutely stunning. And I'm running, always running_." Mike paused to look at Blaine apprehensively, who in return just smiled cheerfully. He made no comment though, and instead went to the back of the room to pick up a guitar.  
Mike shook his head as he continued reading aloud. "_And now I'm crying_–wait what? I'm _crying_?" Mike asked indignantly. Obviously, Blaine was trying to say something about him.  
"Relaxxx Mike, it's just the lyrics. Why don't you keep going?" said Blaine glibly.  
Mike glared back at him, not sure whether to feel annoyed or beaten. "_And now I'm crying, it's only 'cause I'm caring. And if you were more daring, maybe you'd stop staring and come over and talk to me. Tell me 'bout how you've been waiting so patiently_." Mike paused once again to take a breath and to gauge Blaine's reaction. The shorter boy had closed his eyes in order to focus on tuning the guitar.  
"Don't mind me, just keep going. Oh and get ready to sing soon."  
Mike nodded and resumed reading. "_And how you tried but I just turned away and I'll say yeah, well you know: I'm shy that way. Shy that way. Maybe I'm shy that way_." As soon as the last words left Mike's lips, Blaine started strumming the chords to the song and commenced singing his verse perfectly.

_Ohhh, you know you're stunning  
Know you're absolutely stunning  
But you're always runnin'  
But I'll catch up to you  
The way you keep your distance  
Is keeping my interest  
So I'll keep it persistent and go, oh  
Cause mmm maybe someday  
Someway, somehow in some town  
We'll get together and  
We'll break it down  
And I'll ask why you've been  
So shy, gotta be that way  
Maybe baby, oh love, I like it that way  
Shy that way  
You know I love you so shy  
Shy that way_

Mike gazed at the younger boy with mixed feelings. As always, he felt awe first: Blaine's voice was so smooth, so well-rehearsed and full of soul, that it sounded like Jason Mraz was singing the song himself. But secondly, and more importantly, he felt guilt: gut-wrenching, nerve-wracking, mind-numbing guilt. Because the way Blaine was serenading him _proved_ that Mike had let this go too far. Mike consenting to this duet was him leading the poor boy on, in every sense of the expression. The worst part was that it was a direct consequence of Mike trying to avoid Blaine all week. If he had just manned up and spoken to Blaine sooner, they wouldn't be in this awkward misunderstanding.

Mike could've just stopped the duet right then and there. He could've easily just called it quits and ran out, and Blaine wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, what with being weighed down by a guitar and all. Alternatively, Mike could've also stopped the duet so that they could have the much needed conversation that he had been avoiding all week. That probably would have been the preferable option of the two, and may have even offered an opportunity for salvaging their friendship. But in the end, Mike chose the third option: Mike continued to sing.

_There's always too much talking  
And I wanna just keep walking  
But I keep staring baby  
Keep staring  
Though I may not know  
The right things to say  
I'll get it out to you one day_

It was almost like marking the third option on a 'True of False' question. The third option that didn't exist and you'd either have to be blind or a rebel to purposely mark it. And yet Mike had taken that option with only the slightest faltering. He had no idea why he did something so reckless; he could only foresee this ending in more hurt after all. But his reflexes, his _instincts_, had won out in that split second. He had to set things right though. No more rash decisions, no more relying on impulses, Mike needed to stop this before it got any more complicated…after the two of them finished singing, of course. Flawlessly and seamlessly, Blaine picked up on harmony as Mike continued to sing.

_I'm shy that way  
Do you like it  
Do you like it?  
When I'm shy that way?_

_Yes I like it, yes I like it  
When you're shy  
Shy that way  
__I like it, I like it shy  
__Shy that way_

After finishing the song, Mike and Blaine sat in silence for what seemed like hours.  
In the end, it was Blaine who finally broke the silence."What'd you think?"  
"…I'm still pitchy as ever. Definitely need more work."  
Blaine smiled softly. He had expected an indirect answer like that. "I meant, what'd you think of the words? The lyrics?"  
"I thought we weren't going to go there Blaine. I thought we were just going to sing, not talk," said Mike. But he knew they needed to talk. He knew what he had to do.  
Blaine checked Mike's face to see if there were any signs of anger or resentment, but only saw tiredness. "I know, but I was just wondering what you thought. I personally like how the song captures some of what's going on right now," Blaine said innocently enough. "I mean come on, you got shy and left me hanging last time."  
"Look…I really am sorry Blaine. I never, _ever_ meant to lead you on or anything. You know me, I was just being–"  
"Friendly. Yes, I get it. And so was I," Blaine said reassuringly. "What we did last time? You telling me stories while we looked through old pictures? And what we're doing right now? Singing a duet and talking about it? It's what _friends_ do, and I completely get that. No more, no less." The last four words had a certain amount of bite to it as Mike remembered how their previous conversation ended.  
"But–"  
"I know, I know, no hard feelings from whatever happened at the concert. Seriously, none at all."  
"No but–"  
"And I know you're not ready to talk about…_that_, yet. I wasn't going to ask you again or anything."  
"Wait but–"  
"And we can just go back to hanging out like we did before, best friends and–"  
"Be honest Blaine," Mike interrupted Blaine firmly. "Because I'll be honest. I feel like crap for leading you on. Even if it was unintentional, it's what I did and you can't deny that…"  
"That what?" Blaine asked somberly. _That it felt nice having a real friend in a school I'm new to? That it was encouraging to have someone non-judgmental help me feel better about myself? That it felt just plain _good_ to have a mostly harmless crush on someone so handsome, so charming, so…_

Blaine's face fell as he answered his own question with another question: "That you're straight huh?"  
It was final. He had a crush on someone who was so. Damn. Straight. He should've known better than to get excited over someone so unlikely, but was it really his fault for letting his false hope be kindled by Mike's vague responses? And what could he do now to get over this idiotic and misguided crush? Were they still friends at least?  
"Let's just…take some time to let things settle," said Mike as if he were reading Blaine's mind. Blaine noted how Mike still hadn't verified his orientation, but knew that he didn't to. The answer, or rather, the lack of an answer seemed to be confirmation enough.  
Mike shot one last sympathetic glance at Blaine before he got up to leave. "I promise, I'm not trying to lead you on Blaine."  
_Too bad_, thought Blaine as he watched his friend (or former friend?) leave. _You already did._


	7. Chasing Pavements

**Song used in this chapter: Adele – Chasing Pavements**

* * *

Blaine wasn't really sure what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking at all. Perhaps it was desperation with a hint of misery that led him to this moment. But at this point, it made no difference what got him like this. All he knew was that he wanted advice, and he wanted it now. That's where Kurt came in.  
"Hello Blaine," Kurt greeted him coldly. Looking prim and proper as always, the boy had dressed for a winter storm despite it being fairly pleasant weather for mid-November.  
"Hello Kurt." Blaine was sure to smile cheerfully to show how much he appreciated Kurt coming out to meet him on a Sunday. That said, it was no easy task to convince Kurt in the first place, requiring twenty something failed phone calls followed by an excruciating half hour conversation.  
"To what do I owe this pleasure? Your vague explanations over the phone left much to be desired." Kurt's voice seemed to be an octave lower than usual, which helped in maintaining his 'holier than thou' attitude.  
"Well first here's a cup of coffee, just the way you like it." Blaine handed him the cup and Kurt took it promptly, nodding his head in thanks. His lips curved into an ever so faint smile, convincing Blaine that his cheap ploy was successful in softening Kurt up for what was to come next. "And secondly…I just thought it was time I re-do my apology and really make amends with you." Blaine looked at Kurt hopefully, to see if the lips would break into his trademark smile. Instead, Kurt visibly scoffed before taking a long sip of coffee.  
"Well let's hear it then."

Blaine took his time explaining everything that went through his mind during their brief relationship. As they walked down the quaint streets of Downtown Lima, passing through crowds of people milling about and peeking into the displays of random storefronts, Blaine tried his best to explain how he one day came to the realization that the relationship just wasn't going to work out. For the most part Kurt just took sips of coffee, occasionally acknowledging Blaine's words with a nod of the head but never giving him an outright approving or disapproving look.  
"So I guess that's why we ended up like this," Blaine ended abruptly. He had rehearsed this explanation several times over the night before, but each time he did, he couldn't come up with a satisfactory conclusion. In the end, he opted to just end succinctly so as to not drag out his speech any more than necessary. Kurt took one final sip from his cup before disposing of it. His face still remained expressionless as he turned to face Blaine.  
"You know," Kurt started solemnly. "I kind of had a feeling it wouldn't work either." Blaine was visibly taken aback as Kurt nodded guiltily.  
"It's like I tried to fight the feeling off for the longest time. I convinced myself that every time we talked, every date we went on, every kiss we shared…they all were proof that we _would_ make it work." He paused for a second to think about how best to say his next words. "And so, I ended up fooling myself into a false of security. I think that's why I was so upset when we broke up."  
"Yeah, but my timing was mostly to blame for that," Blaine said sheepishly as he recalled how he proposed breaking up during the _first _week of the new school year.  
"Yes, mostly that. But still, I feel like I should've known better. The whole thing was almost too easy after all." Blaine looked at Kurt questioningly. Was Kurt calling him…easy?  
"What do you mean?" he asked defensively.  
"Well when you look at it objectively, our relationship seemed to be out of convenience, I suppose?"  
"I'm not sure I understand."  
"I mean come on, you were the _first_ openly gay person I had met in this entire godforsaken town. The absolute _first_. How do you think I'd react?"  
"Well I can't say for sure but in retrospect, I know how you _ended up _reacting…"  
"Blaine, I've had plenty of crushes before you. Crushes that were inherently impossible to be mutual." Kurt sighed as he thought back to his old crush on his now stepbrother Finn. "When you came along, you became the _first_ crush that could have led to something more. The first, and possibly _only_ one."  
Blaine nodded in understanding as he started to understand what Kurt was implying. "You were afraid of losing out on a chance–"  
"I was afraid I'd never find anything better."  
Blaine corrected him quickly. "Any_one_."  
Kurt casually dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "But you see what I mean now? Fear of being alone in this hostile community and an indiscriminate yearning for someone who cared…add that on to you conveniently appearing in my life, and that's how we ended up together."  
"Glad that I could be of service," Blaine said jokingly.  
"Don't get me wrong Blaine. I loved how you were so supportive, so encouraging and compassionate."  
Blaine smiled understandingly. "But when exactly did you start having doubts about us?"  
"When I realized that all the support and encouragement you showered me with is just how you are with everyone. They're definitely amazing qualities, but I thought…" Kurt faltered for a second. "I thought you were doing it just for me. Or at least, I thought you were giving me a special kind of attention that you didn't give others. Because you liked me that much."  
"Well I _did_ like you though. I mean, I still do–"  
"As a friend, I know." Kurt massaged his temples of his forehead as if he was stressed from the whole conversation. "Look Blaine, it only gets harder to explain from here. But I hope you understand what I've been trying to say?"  
"Yeah, I _think_ I get it." Blaine sounded a little uncertain, but he did his best to smile apologetically. "First loves don't usually work out do they?" Blaine asked a little poignantly.  
Kurt nodded in sad agreement. "We came out of it for the better though. Because now, I know better than to settle for mere convenience."  
"And I've realized that I need to stop sending every guy the wrong signal. Time to tone down my charm!" Kurt let out a high-pitched "Hah!" as he poked Blaine playfully. Blaine chuckled a little before he stopped to turn and look Kurt in the eyes.  
"We're going to be alright," Blaine proclaimed, more as a statement of fact than a question. Kurt was stunned momentarily by the sudden declaration, but smiled back understandingly.  
"I should hope so!" And as the two boys resumed walking side by side, they had no doubt that they would be.

"So what else did you want to talk about?" Kurt asked as he followed Blaine into a large bookstore.  
Blaine grinned nervously as he pretended to peruse a selection of new arrivals. "I need some…advice. Or maybe not advice, maybe I just need someone else's perspective."  
"Glad that you still find my opinion so valuable. About what though?" Kurt picked up a random book and started to read.  
"Well lately I've been having a hard time connecting with…a friend," Blaine started slowly.  
"Oh?" Kurt looked genuinely surprised. "_You're_ the last person I'd ever expect to have a problem with that, what with you being so darn amiable all the time. Pray tell, who might it be? Besides me obviously."  
"Name's not that important. It's more of a personality thing." Blaine started leading the both of them down an aisle and out of earshot of other customers. "This friend of mine is pretty shy to say the least, and takes a while to open up from what I can tell. Thankfully, we'd gotten to the point where my friend was comfortable enough to hang out with me, talk a bit about their past, even sing a little with me. But here's the odd thing. I _thought _my fr–"  
Kurt put up a hand to stop Blaine mid-sentence. "_Enough_ with the 'my friend' this or that. Ever heard of a pronoun?" Blaine sighed in response. He was intentionally trying to be gender neutral to keep things vague, but looked like that wasn't going to work.  
"Ok then…well my friend's a he–"  
"And you said you sang together. Does that mean _he's_ in glee club?" Kurt asked, suddenly fascinated by the implications.  
"Again, let's focus on the personality."  
"Fiiine."  
"Anyways, I'd _like_ to think we were becoming good friends, but lately it seems like the opposite. Almost like a falling out…"  
"And what makes you think that?" Kurt asked in his best therapist voice possible.  
"He said something about not wanting to lead me on…"  
Kurt turned to look at him with widened eyes. "Oh my GOD Blaine, _is he gay too_?" Kurt whispered frantically. He broke the therapist persona too fast, but he didn't care. "And what the _hell_ Blaine? We just broke up and you're already looking for someone new? I can't even believe–"  
"Wait Kurt, I'm _pretty_ sure he's not gay…"  
"Well what else could he possibly mean by 'leading you on' then?"  
"See that's the thing. I really _don't_ know he means by that. I've been trying to make it clear that I'm…that I'm not some gay kid who's pining over him," Blaine lied. By just looking at the furrows in Blaine's forehead, Kurt could tell that his ex wasn't exactly telling the whole truth. Normally he would've felt obligated to call his friend out on a lie, but this time he decided to just play along.  
"Why are you trying so hard to be friends with him anyways? You've got me after all, now that we've made up."

Blaine thought about the question for a second and realized that it'd be better to withhold the truth, or else suffer one of Kurt's pity speeches. He could already imagine the lengthy sermon Kurt would give if he had told the self-righteous boy about how his crush on a straight guy could never be reciprocated, about how he was settling for the next best thing: the friend zone.  
"While that's certainly true, I'd like to think that I'm not limited to just _one_ best friend. That and most of my good friends are back at Dalton, so I thought it was high time I made some new ones at McKinley." Blaine mentally patted himself on the back. That was definitely a plausible rationale.  
"…And that was a pathetic lie," Kurt said unsympathetically as he walked ahead of Blaine into another aisle of books.  
"W–what? Not even!" Blaine started pouting as he followed after him.  
"Look Blaine. It sounds to me like the _both _of you are taking this much too seriously, or at least, more seriously than what normal friends do."  
Blaine scoffed at the notion. "I don't see where you're getting that idea from."  
"Uh, hello? You asking me for advice on how to be 'friends'? And he doesn't want to 'lead you on'?"  
"Still don't see your point."  
Kurt sighed in exasperation. "Do you see Finn ever talking to me like that? Ever see him worrying about leading me on?"  
"Well Finn's not a friend, he's your _brother_ Kurt. That'd be incest."  
"Depends on how you define incest."  
"…Pretty sure it's incest, no matter how you define it." Kurt covered his ears and started humming loudly to block out Blaine's voice. Blaine just laughed as he trailed after him, until Kurt suddenly stopped in his tracks.  
"Blaine, why are we in this bookstore?"  
Blaine looked down at his shoes sheepishly. "…No reason really. Just browsing." Blaine tried to act normal, but he could tell that Kurt had sensed something suspicious.  
"Blaine," Kurt said in a low voice. "We passed by _several_ other bookstores, some of them larger than this one, and we didn't bother to stop in any of them to 'just browse'."  
"Well," said Blaine, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "That depends on how you define browsing. You could browse more than just books…"  
Kurt broke into a knowing smile when he finally understood what Blaine meant. "Your friend's here isn't he?" Blaine guiltily nodded.

"This is borderline stalking, you know that right? How do you even know he's here today?" Kurt asked in a cross, yet eager tone. He stomped up the stairs to the second floor, hoping to get a top-down view of all the customers in the store so that it'd be easier to identify Blaine's 'friend.' This proved to be a difficult task since Blaine still refused to tell him who his 'friend' was. Ultimately, Kurt had to resort to pointing at random strangers and repeatedly asking "That him?"  
"Look, Kurt, it's not important _who_ he is. I just want to know what _you_ would do if you wanted to keep this friendship from falling apart. A totally platonic, brotherly friendship. And no that's not him. Wait, why would you even assume that was him?" Kurt was pointing at a balding man in his late 40's.  
"Don't really know what's your type anymore Blaine. And I don't think it's just another 'bromance' from what I can tell." Kurt scanned through the aisles once more before giving up and switching his line of sight over to the café area. Despite it being full to the brim with people sipping on lattes while hacking away at their laptops, Kurt managed to spot a familiar tuft of black hair.  
"Mike Chang's here," Kurt murmured in a serious tone. Blaine gasped out loud, afraid that Kurt had already figured out who it was.  
But Kurt hadn't. "I could use him an extra pair of eyes!" he said excitedly.  
"R–right, but he looks so busy though doesn't he? Maybe we should leave him alone–"  
Kurt started moving before Blaine could even finish. "Nonsense. I need his keen ninja-like perception and I'm sure he wouldn't mind."  
Blaine barely caught up to him as he started descending the stairs. "First of all: racist." Kurt briefly shot him an 'Am not!' look before he continued walking.  
"And secondly, he's probably really stressed. Look how hard he's working!" said Blaine, who had become remotely aware that his voice was getting slightly higher and pitchy.  
"We'd only be borrowing him for a little while. Of course, we could just avoid it all if you would just _tell me_ who your 'friend' is." Blaine shook his head vigorously at the suggestion, now vaguely conscious of the little beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead.  
"Wh–what if he just wants to be left alone? What if we're bothering him?" Blaine could feel a heavy lump form in his throat as he spoke, causing him to loosen his bowtie.  
"Now you're just overreacting." Kurt picked up the pace and rapidly proceeded through several aisles of books, getting closer and closer to Mike's range of vision.  
"I really, _really_ don't think this is a good idea. He'll be upset if I…if I…" And without thinking, Blaine shot both of his hands out and clasped firmly onto Kurt's left arm, causing the slender boy to fall back a little.  
"If you what?" Kurt asked exasperatedly as he finally turned to look at Blaine. One look at the trembling, sweating, practically broken down boy was all Kurt needed to see to realize the truth that said boy had been hiding.  
"Please Kurt, we just shouldn't." Blaine was begging now, pleading with a quivering voice. "Can we leave him alone? Please?"  
"My poor, dear Blaine," Kurt said with a heavy sigh as he pulled the shorter boy into a supportive hug. It did nothing to quell Blaine's shaking, but it told Kurt everything he needed to know.  
"I just...I just want to go home," Blaine implored once more. "I'm not ready to face him yet…so please, let's just go."  
Kurt nodded sympathetically as he tightened his embrace. "Just _what_ did you get yourself into this time…"

"You like him Blaine," Kurt said aloud. "No doubt about it." Kurt had spent half an hour listening to Blaine recount all of his experiences with Mike thus far, including the very…sensual parts that made Kurt blush madly, and Kurt was absolutely convinced of the truth behind his statement. As for Blaine? Not so much. It was a good thing the two of them were sitting in some random aisle, far removed from Mike's eyes and ears, because it was taking Kurt forever to make Blaine concede this fact.  
"Depends on how you define like," said Blaine stubbornly. "As a friend, yes I like him."  
"You _know_ what I mean. Stop denying it."  
"Even if I were to admit to that, there'd be no point."  
"Uh, were you listening to your own story? All evidence points to him liking you back!"  
"I don't think that's poss–"  
"And I didn't think being bi was possible either, but honestly sit and think about it. Everything he's done and said to you kind of indicates otherwise."  
"…That depends on how you define bisexuality."  
"We're not playing the definition game anymore Blaine."  
"…Sorry." Blaine wriggled about uncomfortably from his position. "What do you think I should do then?"  
"Nothing!" Kurt hissed. "Absolutely _nothing_." Blaine looked back at him in shock. He would've thought his friend would at least help him come up with a scheme of some sort.  
"Why not?"  
"Remember the last time you acted impulsively on a crush? Remember how it ended for you and that Jeremiah guy?" Kurt knew his scolding sounded harsh, but he knew it was for the best. He needed Blaine to realize that every action has its own reaction, that good intentions can be met with heart-breaking consequences of the unforeseeable nature.  
Blaine looked dejected, defeated almost. "Y–yeah, I remember…"  
Moved by compassion, Kurt decided to relent and soften his tone a bit. "Look Blaine, Mike's already been missing a bunch of glee rehearsals and you're right, he's under a lot of stress from college apps too. Any rash moves right now might scare him off or something."  
"Scare him? _He's_ the one that's got me too hysterical to even talk to him anymore." Kurt was about to reprimand him some more, but instead let out an understanding sigh. Besides, as long as Blaine was too distraught to act foolishly, everything would be fine (or so he hoped). For now, the least Kurt could do was help Blaine sort out his feelings.  
"It must've been one hell of a concert, huh?" Kurt asked dreamily as he leaned back against a bookshelf. Blaine looked at him slightly surprised. "Well…yeah. Yeah, it really was." Blaine couldn't help but smile as he thought back to that blissful Halloween night.  
"You really do like him," Kurt asserted once more. This time, Blaine made no effort to deny it. "You're romantic to a fault, you know that?" said Kurt as he shook his head in pity.  
"I'm not _that_ romantic." Blaine would've protested more, but Kurt looked at him accusingly, effectively shutting him up. They sat in silence for a while, before Blaine spoke up at least. "How's romanticism a bad thing?"  
"…It's a bad thing when it leads to a one-sided affair, when it stops you from realizing that it's not enough for just _one_ person to do all the liking." Kurt waited a moment, before adding sullenly: "I thought you would have realized that by now…after us, after all."

After reveling angst for a few more minutes, Kurt suggested that they call it a day and head home. Blaine agreed whole-heartedly and suggested that they find the most roundabout route possible that would put the most distance between them and the café area. As they headed for the exit on that overly complicated path, they came across a small clearing in a vast array of bookshelves that held little more than a lone piano. Blaine paid the instrument no attention, intent on fleeing the store as quickly as possible, but Kurt slowed to a stop.  
"Not a good idea Kurt, we're supposed to be leaving…_now_."  
"Hush Blaine, I just want to take a look." Kurt walked over to the piano and picked a book up off its music rack. It was a compilation of sheet music for all the songs from Adele's first album. He couldn't help but smile.  
Blaine was getting antsy from the look on Kurt's face. "I know what you're thinking, and it's seriously not a good idea."  
"Relax Blaine," said Kurt reassuringly. "It's not like I'm asking you to sing with me." Kurt pretended to brush aside the notion, which put Blaine slightly at ease.  
"I am _way_ over singing duets with you. Rather, _you_ can play the piano for me while _I_ sing." Blaine audibly whimpered at the sound of the command. Kurt paid Blaine no heed as he forced the shorter boy to sit on the bench. Before Blaine could utter a single objection, the slender boy had placed the songbook down onto rack, already opened to his song of choice.  
"He'll _hear_ us!" Blaine hissed, his face already clouding over with anxiety and worry.  
"He won't! He had headphones on," Kurt lied with a straight face. "Now go ahead and do that devil magic thing where you read and play songs perfectly even though you've never seen the sheet music before."  
"You mean sight-reading?"  
"Or devil magic. Depends on how you define it I suppose."  
Blaine groaned in protest. "But _then_ can we go? After this?"  
Kurt smiled smugly and seated himself next to Blaine. "What_ever_ you want Blaine." And without further ado, Blaine began playing the piano as Kurt started singing.

_I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over  
If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further  
This ain't lust, I know this is love_

Blaine inwardly cursed Kurt for his choice in this highly relevant, yet very depressing song. It was almost as if his ex was openly mocking him, in lyrical form no less. What made it worse was how local patrons started gathering around them to appreciate Kurt's crystal clear voice…a voice that Blaine himself hadn't heard in a while now. He hadn't realized how much he missed listening to Kurt sing, how much it both soothed and moved him at the same time. As he listened to the countertenor continue to sing, he found himself actually enjoying the performance despite how risky it was, instead of resenting how he had gotten dragged into it. It was the perfect reprieve, a welcome distraction from the mess that his mind was in.

_But, if I tell the world, I'll never say enough  
'Cause it was not said to you  
And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you_

_Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements  
Even if it leads nowhere?  
Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place  
Should I leave it there?  
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements  
Even if it leads nowhere?_

Out of nowhere, accompanying instruments started joining in. First a violin, then a cello, and then even a conga drum; the instruments all came together to fill in the gaps in the melody of the song. Blaine and Kurt exchanged startled 'What the hell?' faces as they looked around the room to find the source of the music. It didn't take them long to find the trio of musicians sitting in a far corner.  
"This…is odd," Blaine whispered quietly into Kurt's ear. He was improvising and playing a little interlude to give them a little time to discuss their peculiar predicament. To his surprise, the musicians played along perfectly. "Do you know them?" Blaine asked bewilderedly.  
"Never seen them before in my life!" Kurt said in a high-pitched whisper. "I think–I think Rachel warned me about this bookstore though."  
"Yeah? What'd she say, that they have this creeper band sitting in the back of the store just waiting to jump in on a song?"  
"Actually…that's exactly what she said. Said the same thing happened to her during an impromptu duet with her ex." Blaine mentally reminded himself that weirder shit had happened in glee club and wasn't sure why this occasion should feel any different. After all, he should be used to this kind of stuff by now. And so without missing a beat, Blaine started playing the next part of the song as Kurt (and the mini-band) harmonized flawlessly.

_I build myself up and fly around in circles  
Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle  
Finally, could this be it?_

Between doing his best to sight-read and trying to ignore the awkward presence of the band in the back, Blaine was able to continue appreciating how Kurt was hitting each and every note perfectly. It was as if he had rehearsed this song a hundred times before. When Blaine stopped to think about it, he realized that this was likely true. This song was the _anthem_ for every gay boy's unrequited crush, and he himself had probably sung it a few dozen times before too.

_Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements  
Even if it leads nowhere?  
Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place  
Should I leave it there?  
Should I give up?  
__Or should I just keep on chasing pavements  
__Should I just keep on chasing pavements?_

Kurt belted out the bridge with an intensity and fervor that caught Blaine by surprise. It was almost as if he was directing these questions right at Blaine, telling him to seriously ask himself what he should do next. Blaine didn't know the answer himself, but from the way Kurt was singing, the way he picked up his voice on particular words and the way he clenched his eyes shut for certain notes, it almost seemed encouraging to him. Then again, he could be misinterpreting the raw emotion that Kurt put into every one of his performance. After all, Kurt had just finished warning him not to make any moves…yet. But if not now, then when? It didn't seem like a question of whether or not to approach Mike again; he was definitely convinced that he _should_. He knew that he didn't want to give up on talking to Mike, he was too good a friend to let go! It was all a matter of timing.

_So talk to him today maybe_? _He's just a few steps away after all._ Blaine quickly trashed that idea as he recalled his near meltdown earlier. Furthermore, he didn't have anything prepared yet and approaching Mike at this point required Blaine to be…strategic, to say the least. _So perhaps try again next week?_ _Give us both a little time to recover from the duet mishap?_ It was true Mike had been taking extra precautions to avoid him, but they at least saw each other in AP Chemistry and there was no way Mike would cut class. _Perhaps talk to him before or after AP Chem?_ Blaine promptly rejected this notion too, upon recalling that Mike had somehow found a way to always arrive last to class and always be first to leave.

Blaine was about to begin planning out an elaborate strategy/trap for Mike when Kurt finally finished singing the chorus one last time. Kurt motioned for him to get up, and the two bowed before the group of applauding customers. Even the awkward trio in the back was giving them a collective thumbs-up, to which the both of them mouthed a soundless 'Thank you?'  
"Feels so darn _good_ to get that out of my system," Kurt said enthusiastically as the two of them finally headed for the exit.  
"Good for you," Blaine said curtly. "So can we go finally?"  
"Of course!" Kurt exclaimed as he broke into a sly smirk. "…I'll just hitch a ride with Mike and you can go on your merry way." Blaine froze in place as he slowly processed what Kurt just said.  
"Y–you'll what?" Blaine sputtered.  
"Oh shoot, my ride's already leaving me behind." Blaine turned to look at the exit and sure enough, Mike had just walked through the front door. Kurt used the distraction as an opportunity to escape, but Blaine spun around in time to catch the slender boy by the hand. Without hesitating, Kurt reached out and flicked the shorter boy square in the forehead, causing him to reel back in surprise and release his grip. By the time Blaine recovered, Kurt had slid past him and was already hastily trotting to the exit, where he stopped to catch a brief glimpse of the semi-freaking out Blaine. He looked so pitiable that Kurt almost felt like going back to console him. Almost. Instead, Kurt just smirked devilishly in contempt and pranced through the door. He had a plan after all, something that would save Blaine from his own undoing.

"Mike!" Kurt called out as he raced along the street. "Mike wait up!" Mike didn't turn around. Indignant, Kurt made sure to slap Mike extra hard on the back once he finally caught up, causing Mike to yelp in pain.  
"What the hell–Kurt?" Mike looked at him incredulously as he removed a pair of well-concealed earbuds from his ears.  
"Woops. Sorry about that," Kurt apologized. "I thought you were ignoring me." Mike didn't respond. Instead he was still ogling him in a state of mixed alarm and fear. Kurt stared back uncomfortably. What was it with _both_ Blaine and Mike and their unnecessary panicked expressions? It's not like his perpetually porcelain face could possibly instill terror in anyone.  
Mike suddenly snapped out of his trance. "A–all good Kurt, shouldn't have had my music playing so loud anyways." Mike tried to hide his edginess, but the series of bizarre dreams he had been experiencing recently (all of which involved Kurt as the extra violent antagonist) had traumatized him to a certain degree. "What're you doing out here?"  
"Oh I was just browsing around. About to walk home now. How about yourself?"  
"I see," Mike commented awkwardly. "Well I was just trying to get some work done–"  
"And now you're all done and heading home too? What a coincidence!" Kurt proclaimed facetiously. "Well since we live in the same general area…" Mike mentally noted that they actually did _not_. "Could you give me a ride home? Too tired from all this walking…" Mike mentally noted that Kurt seemed _extra_ chipper. "And it'd be nice to catch up with you! Especially since you've been missing rehearsals lately." Mike mentally noted that he and Kurt rarely ever talked, unless it was Mike reprimanding Kurt for his excessive use of jazz hands.

Perhaps with any other person, Mike might've been slightly suspicious. But thanks to the way his subconscious had conditioned him ('mentally break' might be a better choice of words), he felt like he was compelled to oblige, or else suffer _another_ horrid nightmare.  
"S-sure?"  
Kurt clapped his hands together vigorously. "Perfect! We have _so_, so much to talk about…" He nuzzled up against the taller boy and gesture for him to lead the way. Mike couldn't help but gulp nervously.


	8. The Scientist

**Song used in this chapter: Coldplay – The Scientist. I really love this song, which is probably why I really love this chapter. Kudos to you if you can find the lyrics scattered throughout.**

* * *

Blaine sat nervously in the driver's seat of his Honda Civic. He was pretty sure he could be considered a full-fledged stalker now, in light of how he was parked in front of Mike's house…without ever having directly asked Mike for his address. _But it's all good,_ Blaine reassured himself. _I've brought cheesecake. Everybody loves cheesecake. _He haggardly exhaled as he glanced over at the dessert he wished to use as a…peace offering? He wasn't quite sure what to call it, but he was counting on it to appease the Chang household. _And besides, everyone should be in a good mood today of all days_. Blaine pulled his key out of the ignition, picked up the cheesecake in one hand, locked his car with the other, and slowly made his way to the porch. For some reason, he had expected the short trek from his car to the front door to be more…difficult. Indeed he had half-expected some mental breakdown, or a freak-out at the very least, before arriving at the welcome mat. In his mind, he thought he was supposed to be getting all worked up over this meeting, especially since it would be their first time talking in two weeks (Mike had gotten exceptionally good at evading any confrontation). Granted he was a little tired (making cheesecake is no easy task), but otherwise Blaine felt totally cool, calm, and collected as he confidently lifted his hand and rang the doorbell.

The door wasn't even a quarter of the way open before Blaine's nerves cracked. His heart was racing, his palms were sweaty, his face was flushed, and his eyes were going blurry. But despite his self-composure rapidly deteriorating, his brain managed to maintain enough functionality to speak.  
"H–happy Thanksgiving!" Blaine practically shouted as he awkwardly held out the cheesecake in both hands while bowing his head. Unfortunately, the door still wasn't fully open yet. If his hands weren't already occupied, Blaine definitely would have done a face-palm.  
"Blaine?" The door was finally open and there stood Mike, looking slightly surprised. "Why are you–" Mike paused for a second. "What are you–" Mike paused again. "How do you know where I live?" he finally asked.  
"Finn told me where you live because I just really, _really_ wanted to come out to meet you and tell you I'm sorry!" Blaine said in one long breath.  
Mike looked a little confused. "But there's nothing to be sorry about…" Before Blaine could begin to explain, Mike's eyes settled on the cheesecake that Blaine was still awkwardly holding out. Mike's face softened a bit.  
"This for me?" he asked gently. Blaine nodded vigorously, his whole body reverberating from the force. Mike chuckled lightly as he thanked Blaine and finally reached out to take the cake. "Well I would have had something prepared for you had I known you were bringing this."  
"It's–it's nothing really." _Just seeing how lovely you are is enough for me_, Blaine thought to himself…despite the fact that Mike was rather underdressed today, wearing nothing more than a plain maroon t-shirt and light gray sweatpants. In addition, Mike looked fatigued, possibly sleep-deprived. Blaine's head started to fill with worry at the thought of Mike getting sick again, when the older boy's voice suddenly pulled him back from his private thoughts.  
"Blaine?"  
"…Mike?" Blaine had reflexively said the other boy's name for no apparent reason, causing Mike to look at him quizzically once more. Mental face-palm.  
"Uhm…well thanks again for the cake Blaine. I'll get you back sometime." Mike took a step back and placed his hand on the doorknob, as if to signify that it was time for Blaine to leave.

But Blaine didn't want to leave just yet. The whole point of meeting Mike today was so that Blaine could actually _say_ something to him. He wanted to tell Mike just how much he really needed him, as a friend and nothing more. He wanted to tell Mike how he had resolved his own feelings, how he had gotten over crush (…sort of). He wanted to tell Mike how in his mind, he had already set Mike apart and above any of his previous friends, Dalton ones included. He wanted to tell Mike to stop avoiding him, to go back to messing around during Chem labs and having their private duet practices. But most of all, he just wanted to _talk_ with Mike again. Blaine understood how this might seem trivial to most people, but it was _how_ Mike talked that Blaine missed the most. To say that Mike's personality was addicting was already a gross understatement. It was absolutely _enthralling_, and it was readily apparent in the way he talked (or used to talk) with Blaine. He could speak about anything, from how much he loved to dance to how to synthesize acetaminophen for a lab experiment, and it would all be completely captivating. He spoke with such a _passion_ for life, that it was utterly infectious. Blaine never felt more alive, more validated and appreciative of being alive, than when he was with Mike. How was it even possible for someone to make you feel this way? Moreover, how was it even possible to _let go_ of someone that made you feel this way?  
"Don't worry about it Mike," Blaine said softly after the silence became unbearable. "See you Monday I guess." He turned around resignedly and began walking back to his car. There was a lot he wanted to say to Mike. But in the end, he said nothing.

Mike watched from the doorway as the other boy retreated. Guilt wracked his entire mind while his conscience screamed at him to do something, anything to reach out to Blaine. _But it's not like I did something wrong_, he mentally rationalized. _In fact, it's better that I don't do anything. If I did something now, it'd be all bad. _Nevertheless, guilt pangs tugged at his chest as he observed how suddenly fragile Blaine seemed. Not fragile in the sense that Artie would be without his wheelchair (he snorted at the thought of Blaine crawling along on his belly to get back to his car); but there was something about Blaine's heavy gait, the way each step seemed to be labored and dragged out, that made him uncomfortably aware of how much he wanted to call out to him. And so he did.  
"Blaine…" Mike said in a low voice. Blaine showed no reaction. "Hey Blaine," he said again, his voice a bit firmer than before. Still no response as Blaine got closer to his car.

Mike let out a ragged sigh. He knew he was capable of being much louder than this, but he also knew he didn't _have_ to be loud to get Blaine's attention; the boy noticed _everything _about Mike. The boy's eyes watched Mike wherever he went and whatever he did. And though Blaine tried to be inconspicuous about it, Mike always noticed. Always. Every single time Mike looked over at Blaine, Blaine was already looking first. And that's when Mike realized it. That's when Mike realized that the only way he could've noticed how often Blaine was staring at him, was if he watched Blaine just as intently. He scratched the back of his head as he pondered the thought and its implications, but finally decided to let it go. In the end, Mike _knew_ that Blaine had heard him; the fact that he didn't reply was probably because he was annoyed or maybe even mad. _And all for the better_, Mike thought to himself with confidence. _As long as I'm not leading him on_. In reality, all Mike felt was an aching regret as he turned around and let the door slowly shut behind him.

Mike heard a dull thud and a hushed cough instead of the sound of the door closing back into its place.  
"…You called?"  
"I did," Mike said evenly as he turned back. The door was somewhat ajar, concealing most of Blaine's figure but letting in the tiniest glimpse of his miserable expression.  
"Y–you could've been louder you know."  
Mike answered with a simple, "I know."  
"Was there something you wanted to say?" Mike could hear the faintest hint of hope in Blaine's voice. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out; he hadn't actually thought of what he had wanted to say.  
Blaine let the quiet linger for a moment more before finally announcing, "I–I'd like to come in Mike." He looked down at his feet as he began fidgeting with his fingers, suddenly conscious of how dumb and small he felt after saying something so embarrassing. Mike on the other hand, tried to suppress a small grin, even though Blaine wouldn't have seen it from his angle behind the door.  
"…I'd like that too."

The first thing Blaine noticed was how clean the house was. Every surface was spotless, from the hardwood floors to the granite countertops, and the whiteness of the walls seemed to accentuate this sterile feeling. It's not that Blaine's house was a complete mess or anything…it's just that the Chang household was on a whole another level of cleanliness. The second thing Blaine noticed was how quaint the house was. Blaine partly attributed this to the fact that the house was one-story, a rarity in Lima. What added onto the charming appeal of the abode was the overall interior design of the place: the rooms, the decorations, and the furniture gave off a mixed vibe of Asian traditions juxtaposed with both utilitarian and modern values. For a split second, Blaine imagined what it would be like to inherit the residence from Mike's parents…and to live in it with Mike, of course. Blaine blushed and shook his head furiously to perish the thought.  
"I–I really like your home," said Blaine as he followed Mike into the kitchen area. "But for some reason I was expecting…"  
"Something more Asian?" Mike asked playfully as he placed the cheesecake into the refrigerator.  
"Oh believe me, it's already quite Asian enough." Blaine proved his point by identifying several Feng Shui artifacts around them and knocking on various pieces of furniture made from teak. Mike shrugged as if to ask 'What did you expect?'  
"In any case, would you like a quick look around?" Mike was smiling calmly at him, something Blaine hadn't seen in weeks. He nodded eagerly.

"…Is this it?" Blaine asked curiously as he looked around Mike's bedroom. Though the question may have seemed rude in most other contexts, it was warranted in this case. All Mike had in his bedroom was a full-sized bed, a full-length mirror, a small dresser, and a closet concealed by sliding doors. The only accessories lying around were body spray, hair spray, and a watch on top of his dresser. Other than that, there was no desk, no TV, no posters, no_ anything_ that would be typical of a teenager's bedroom.  
Mike nodded his head in confirmation. "This is it." He smirked as he observed the growing confusion in Blaine's face. "It's because I like it this way. I like to associate my bedroom with relaxation and sleeping and uh…a small variety of _other_ activities." Blaine blushed as un-dapper thoughts flashed through his head and reminded him of how he liked to…indulge himself in his own bed.  
"T–That makes sense actually, you do all your work in some other room and that keeps all the stress and bad energy away from your rest area."  
"Exactly!" Mike agreed. "Plus, all the extra space means I can practice some dance moves in here." He stepped forward into a quick jump-spin before landing and winking coyly at Blaine, to which Blaine responded with some light applause. Though he tried to keep his outward reactions tepid and restrained, his inner psyche was squealing like an excited pre-teen girl. Things were_ finally_ returning to normal between the two of them.  
"So where do you do your work then?" Blaine asked nonchalantly as he backed out of the room. He was suddenly aware of how much the room smelled of Mike, and was afraid his libido would explode if he inhaled anymore of the intoxicating scent.  
"Oh we have an office-type room; it's usually where I pull my all nighters. It's a bit gloomy in there though…" Mike stared off into space as he recalled the long hours of his childhood spent in there doing homework. It was back when he was still doped up on ADHD meds, but to this day he still associated that room with unbearable tedium and monotony.

"…You alright Mike?" asked Blaine, a bit worried. Mike's face had stayed semi-vacant a little too long. "Where are your parents by the way? Are they coming home soon?"  
Mike finally snapped out of his trance. "Nah. Not tonight at least. They're at my relatives right now, two hours away." Mike walked past Blaine and headed down the hallway back to the kitchen.  
"…They're _what_? Andwithout _you_? On _Thanksgiving_?" Blaine asked in disbelief as he followed Mike.  
"Yup. I told them to go on ahead without me. Wanted to get my personal statements done over this break and I just thought hanging out with the family would get me too distracted." Mike sat down at the kitchen counter and popped open his laptop.  
"You're joking right?" Blaine looked at the other boy with incredulity. He literally couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're supposed to spend Thanksgiving with _loved_ ones. How could your parents possibly agree to this?" Blaine stood directly opposite of Mike on the other side of the counter, as if confronting him face on.  
"Actually, my dad had no problem with it. In fact, he even complimented me for the initiative."  
"You _can't_ be serious…" But one look at Mike's face and Blaine could tell that he wasn't lying. "But…but what about Thanksgiving _dinner_? You _love_ to eat!"  
"Mom said she'd bring me half a turkey or so when they come back tomorrow. I'll get by with leftovers for tonight."

There were occasions before where Blaine had felt genuinely moved by Mike, both out of inspiration and infatuation. But this moment was entirely different. What Blaine felt right now transcended any previous emotions Mike had ever invoked in him. What Blaine felt right now was unreserved pity and compassion. The prospect of not spending a holiday with loved ones was practically sacrilegious to Blaine, and he simply could not (would not!) let Mike do this to himself. He knew he risked undoing all of the progress he had made thus far that day and might possibly do some irreversible offense if he overstepped some boundary, but he just couldn't sit by and watch Mike do Thanksgiving alone. Not when he cared so much about the boy.  
"This is _not_ alright Mike," Blaine said in a low voice. "And you know it."  
"Relax Blaine, I'll survive," said Mike. "Besides, you should get home to your family soon. Don't want to be a hypocrite now do you?" He was trying to tease Blaine, to break some of the sudden tension that had developed, but Blaine couldn't help but note how quickly the energy had disappeared from Mike's voice. That's when he remembered how Mike looked when he first answered the door. Half an hour ago, Mike had looked exhausted. Now, he looked borderline _broken_.  
"Don't worry about me Mike. My family actually celebrates Thanksgiving on Friday. We think eating too much on Thursday slows us down during Black Friday shopping."  
Mike chuckled almost imperceptibly. "And don't _you_ worry about me Blaine. Seriously. I have your cheesecake to sustain me."  
"Don't want to hear it Mike." Blaine rolled up his sleeves as he walked into the kitchen. "I am _not_ leaving you alone and miserable today, and that's that."  
Mike was too tired to hide the big smile forming on his face. "But I'm not alone…" said Mike in a near whisper so that Blaine couldn't hear. "And definitely not miserable, now that you're here."

Blaine opened the refrigerator and did a mental inventory of what was available.  
"Would your mom mind if I cooked up any of the stuff in here?" Blaine asked casually as he rummaged through the shelves for some protein.  
"You really don't have to do this you know. And no, she won't mind."  
"Perfect!" said Blaine cheerfully. He pulled out an already defrosted Cornish game hen. Upon examination of the bird, he quickly concluded that most of the moisture had already evaporated from the surface. He nodded his head in approval as he thought about how well the skin would crisp up in the oven.  
"Do you need any help?" Mike asked from behind Blaine.  
"Not yet. Why don't you keep working on those personal statements and I'll let you know when I need help?" Mike sighed reluctantly and trudged back to the kitchen counter like a child being forced to do his homework. Blaine couldn't help but laugh.  
Mike growled good-naturedly at him as he sat down in front of his laptop. "You seem to be taking pleasure in my pain Blaine."  
Blaine ignored the comment. "How do sweet potato fries sound?" Blaine asked as he pulled out a pack of frozen fries from the freezer.  
"Didn't even know we had them…" Blaine took that as a yes.  
"Where's the garlic? And shallots? And honey?" Blaine asked in rapid-fire succession as inspiration for his Cornish hen dish came together.  
"There, there, anddd over there," Mike answered just as rapidly with quick points of his finger. "How about some music?"  
"Instrumentals only Mike, music with words interferes with the writing." Blaine gathered all of his ingredients onto the kitchen island and went to preheat the oven. Mike turned on the music at the same time Blaine turned on the oven.  
"This good?" Mike asked in reference to the mellow melody coming from his speakers. He mentally noted how the entire scene playing out before him seemed so domestic, yet gratifyingly pleasant.  
Blaine bit his lower lip as he tried to repress his twenty something-eth blush today. "Y–yeah Mike. It's all good."

The two worked in relative quiet for the next half-hour. Unfortunately, the quiet wasn't just because of a lack of talking between them. On one hand, Blaine was incredibly slow with his knife-work, so there were extremely long gaps of silence in between each slice and dice. Mike on the other hand, seemed to be having a terrible case of writer's block, as evidenced by the sparse sounds of typing. Blaine wasn't surprised though. Kurt had already told him about how much trouble Mike was having with the essay prompts (it had 'come up' in conversation when Mike gave Kurt a ride the other day). Not wanting Mike to get any more frustrated than he already was, and also because he desperately needed help with all the cutting, Blaine decided to finally ask him for help.  
"Hey Mike, want to lend me a hand?" Mike immediately perked up. A second later, Mike was standing next to him with his own knife in hand.  
"What do you need help with?" Mike asked. He was eager to say the least, and showed it by expertly twirling the knife around his index finger. Blaine had heard of pyromaniacs, but knife-maniacs?  
"Well, I need to finish mincing the garlic for the sauce. I also need the shallots to be finely diced and then the red onions need to be thinly sliced for the salad…that's it I think." Upon finishing his instructions, Blaine reached for another garlic clove to work on; what he felt instead was Mike's hand on top of his own. In a scene that had to be straight out of a book of movie clichés, the boys' hands had accidentally touched over something so trivial, so mundane as garlic. That didn't stop Blaine from audibly gulping as a tingle shot up his arm. He glanced over at Mike expectantly, because if he had learned anything from watching rom-coms all his life, there had to be more to this chance meeting of hands.

There wasn't. "Let me do the cutting. I was watching you earlier and you're kind of slow," Mike said with a straight-face. Blaine mentally face-palmed.  
"A–alright then. I guess I'll go get started on the sauce for the hen then." Blaine walked over to the stove and started melting several tablespoons of butter in a saucepan as Mike started furiously chopping away. He was done with the garlic in five seconds flat. Blaine looked at Mike in absolute awe as the boy made quick work of the shallots as well.  
"How do you _do_ that?" Blaine asked in admiration.  
Mike shrugged as if it was no big deal. "Practice I guess? I'm not that good with actually cooking but," Mike paused to pour the minced garlic into the saucepan and then dump the shallots into the roasting pan with the raw hen. "I can at least help with the prep work." He swiftly sliced the red onions into fine threads, then dangled one of the thin slivers in the air as if to prove his point.  
Blaine nodded in agreement. "You never cease to amaze me Mike. And you can put those in the salad bowl." Mike did as he was told while Blaine turned back to attend to his sauce. He added a copious amount of honey to the now sizzling garlic butter and then salted the concoction generously. Once the sauce reached the desired consistency, Blaine dipped a spoon into the pan for a taste test.  
"...May I taste?"

Blaine let slip a startled gasp as his body froze in place. He hadn't noticed Mike sneak up behind him, but was now only too cognizant of how the taller boy was comfortably resting his chin on Blaine's left shoulder. Flashbacks to the concert raced through his mind, causing his face to flush red.  
"S–sure," said Blaine. He tried to calm himself as his shaking hand raised the spoon to Mike's mouth, which was positioned precariously close to Blain's neck. Mike sipped the liquid gingerly and waited several seconds before saying anything.  
"This is _amazing_ Blaine!" Mike said as he stepped back. Blaine let out a sigh of relief as he took a taste of the sauce himself. "Seriously Blaine, where'd you get the idea for this?"  
"My imagination I suppose." He didn't know how it was possible, but he was blushing evenmorenow as the other boy kept praising him over and over for his culinary genius.  
"It's really not that special Mike," Blaine said modestly as he began pouring and brushing the sauce onto the hen before placing it in the oven.  
"No Blaine, it really _is_ that good. So good, that we should call it…_Blaine_ _Sauce_." Mike made the decree official by licking his lips messily.  
"Mike, I don't think–"  
"The sauce that's so good, it'll have you _coming_ for more…and more and more and more!" Mike dunked the spoon back into the pan and then stuck out his entire tongue to lick it clean.  
"Wait Mike, doesn't that sound–"  
"Finger-licking good!" Mike dipped several of his fingers into the pan and proceeded to suck thoroughly on each digit, complete with prolific sucking sounds.  
"Mike…"  
"It has a kind of salty after-taste. I like it though." Mike used a finger to wipe away a stray drop of sauce from the corner of his mouth. The droplet disappeared with a quick flick of his tongue.  
"…Where's the bathroom again?" Blaine had to excuse himself before Mike noticed the embarrassing tent in his pants.

They spent the next half-hour talking about Mike's personal statements while Blaine continued cooking.  
"I've tried writing them in so many different styles but…none of them _sound_ right."  
"Well it could be a matter of structure and organization," said Blaine as he whisked together the ingredients for his salad dressing. "But it could also be that you're just not hitting on the past experiences that you _really_ need to talk about. Maybe you're not mentioning those deep-seated memories that help explain who you truly are?" Blaine tasted the dressing and was satisfied with how the balsamic vinegar, soy sauce, olive oil, sugar, salt, and sesame seeds blended together. Mike reached out to dip his finger in the bowl but Blaine whacked it away. He didn't want a repeat of the previous fiasco.  
"That could be true," said Mike as he suggestively sucked on his finger as if it were in real pain, to which Blaine rolled his eyes. But the more Mike thought about it, the more he realized how true it was. His essays were almost entirely devoid of any mention of his devotion to athletics and the arts. Instead, they mostly emphasized his academic potential which, while impressive, was only one part of him.  
"Since that's the case, I'm not exactly sure where to start," Mike said with a grumble.  
"I can help with that!" Blaine said cheerfully. "Just tell me your secrets and we can go from there."  
Mike let out an exaggerated laugh. "You wish!"  
Blaine chuckled as he placed the dressing next to the salad bowl. "Worth a shot." He opened the bag of fries, laid them out on a baking sheet, and placed them into the toaster oven to cook.  
"…How about you ask me your questions?" Mike suggested after some internal deliberation. "That'd help me think about which memories and past experiences are relevant to the essay prompts."  
"Oh I can definitely do that." Blaine walked back over to the counter and took a seat opposite Mike. "Let's go back to the start then."  
"…Starting from when I was born?" Mike asked. It was Blaine's turn to let out an exaggerated laugh.

Half an hour later and the two of them were _still _running in circles, trying to figure out which details in Mike's life made sense to mention and which aspects were better off skimmed over.  
Mike was visibly frustrated. "I could just flip a coin for each topic: tails I mention it in the statement, heads I don't."  
"I'd like to think there's more of a science to the process than just chance," Blaine said as he went over to check on the oven one last time. He peered in and was pleased with how crispy the skin looked. All he could do now was hope that the meat was still tender and juicy from the constant basting with the honey-garlic butter (aka _Blaine_ _Sauce_).  
"I know but, I'm just so god damn _tired_ of this. I've been trying for weeks to put my whole self into this fucking essay and all I get is the cheap feeling a prostitute has after a busy night of work." Mike crossed his arms on the table and plopped face forward into them.  
"That's an…interesting metaphor. I'm assuming what you mean is: you feel like you're selling yourself to college admissions, like you're whoring yourself out?" Mike made no effort to neither answer nor move from his face-down posture. Blaine sighed as he pulled the pan from the oven and set it to the side, where he promptly covered the whole thing in foil to let the meat rest.  
"I get your frustration Mike, I really do." Blaine got on his tippy-toes to reach some large plates from the cupboard above him. "But, nobody said it was easy." Mike merely grunted and buried his face deeper into his arms. He looked so dismal yet adorable, that it took all of Blaine's self-restraint not to walk over and give him a big hug right then and there. So, Blaine settled for lightly tussling Mike's hair (which he _hoped_ was not overstepping some physical boundary) as a sign of encouragement.  
"…I don't want to do this anymore," Mike said weakly as he peaked up at Blaine.  
"Well, I suppose it would be _such_ a shame for us to part with your beloved application for a little while," Blaine teased playfully. "But I do think it's time for dinner."

The two of them sat at the kitchen counter instead of at the main dining table, giving the meal a casual and comfortable feel. They started with a simple salad, dressed lightly with what Mike called _Blaine_ _Sauce_ _#2_. Blaine could only scoff at the notion, though he was admittedly quite pleased. About halfway through the salad, Blaine got up to pull the sweet potato fries from the toaster oven while Mike rummaged through the pantry. He came back bearing a bottle of scotch in one hand and rum in the other.  
"Shall I make us a drink?" Mike asked in a smooth, sultry voice. Blaine laughed hesitantly at the proposition but quickly gave in. It was a holiday after all, and light drinking should be fine.  
"Go easy on me though," requested Blaine. Mike smirked smugly in reply as he poured several ounces of scotch and rum into two tall glasses filled with ice.  
"I–isn't that a lot?" Blaine asked cautiously. The glasses were already half full of liquor. Mike just kept smirking as he wringed the cap off a bottle of root beer using the inside of his forearm and biceps. Try as he might to resist the temptation, Blaine couldn't help but stare at those glorious biceps. He didn't even realize that his mouth was slightly agape the whole time.  
Mike topped off both glasses with the root beer and slid one glass over to Blaine. "Just try it. It's not too strong." Mike sniggered a little as he watched Blaine finally regain his composure and take a delicate sip. "I'd normally add tequila to this but…it's not that kind of night."  
"Well that's alright because this is _delicious _as is!" Blaine said as he took a bigger gulp. "I daresay we have a bestseller here. What do you propose we call it…_Mike Juice_?" Mike laughed out loud as he walked over to where the hen was resting.  
"Call it whatever you want Blaine. And can I cut this in half now?" Mike picked up the cleaver in anticipation.  
"Please do. And I _will_ call it _Mike Juice_." Blaine playfully lapped up some of the drink from his glass. He then dragged his tongue around the rim of the glass while continuing to moan praises for the drink. "I feel like I could do this _all_ _night_!"  
"T–that so?" Mike asked as he nervously tugged at the collar of his shirt. For some odd reason, Blaine words and actions were…entertaining him more than was probably appropriate.

"No one ever said it would be this hard," said Mike as he stuffed a few fries in his mouth.  
"Writing your personal statement?" Blaine asked as he finished eating a drumstick and threw the bone onto a napkin.  
Mike's eyes lingered on the bone. "More like the college application process in general. You going to finish that?"  
Blaine picked up the bone to check for any leftover meat, but saw that there was none. "I thought I did…"  
"You left the cartilage though." Mike took the bone from Blaine's fingers and stuck the cartilage-covered end into his own mouth. With a quick snap of his teeth, he bit the cartilage cap clean off and put the bone back in Blaine's hand.  
Blaine wasn't quite sure what to say. "…Thanks?"  
"No prob. Anyways, my college guidance counselor made the application process seem like it'd be no harder than just guessing at numbers and figures." Mike paused to take a sip of his drink. "After all, we kind of already know what colleges are looking for, so just give them what they want…in written form though."  
"And therein lays the challenge," said Blaine. He peeled the meat off of a wing and handed the bones over to Mike so that he could gnaw on the cartilage.  
"I've already read a bunch of pretty good sample essays. Which got me thinking: if I could just take one of those essays and deconstruct it, kind of like pulling a puzzle apart, I'd be able to figure out what I should do for my own statement." Mike took a big swig of his drink after sharing his idea.  
Blaine shook his head in disagreement. "Writing this kind of stuff isn't like answering a question of science. There's no formula or theory that you can just apply to get the right answer."  
"I know, I know…And there might not even be a right answer in the first place," Mike said with a sigh.  
"Exactly. Besides, questions of science and progress and all that other stuff," Blaine said while picking up his drink, "they don't speak as loud as the heart." Mike clinked his almost-empty glass against Blaine's half-full one, indicating to the other boy that he needed to catch up.  
"That sounds a little cheesy and melodramatic," Mike said with a smirk as he finished his last few sips.  
"Well you'd be surprised how far showing a little heart can get you," said Blaine as he downed the rest of his drink. _It's gotten us back on good terms after all_.  
"…I'll think about it." Mike didn't sound particularly convinced, but couldn't think of anything better to say. "So, dessert time?"

Mike led the way to the living room with plates of cheesecake in hand.  
"Go ahead and find good something on TV, I'm just going to grab my laptop real quick," said Mike as he placed the plates down on the coffee table. Blaine nodded tiredly and plopped down on the sofa. _Mike Juice_ was finally kicking in. Before his mind could get any fuzzier, Blaine made sure to find the remote control and turn the TV on. By 'good', he knew that Mike wanted a football game (he was a typical jock in that sense, but there were plenty of redeeming qualities about him thankfully). After surfing the channels for a while, he realized that they had already missed the Packers vs. Lions and the Dolphins vs. Cowboys games. The 49ers vs. Ravens game wasn't set to start for another hour. Finding little else worth watching, he settled on a documentary.  
"What, no football game?" Mike asked disappointedly when he came back with his laptop.  
"49ers and Ravens are up next, but not for a while. Guess you got some more time to work on your essay then."  
Mike groaned and made a mock pouty face. "What are we watching until then?"  
"Some documentary about King Arthur and the legends surrounding him. We can watch something else if you'd like?"  
Mike sat himself down right _next_ to Blaine, their sides flushed together, despite there being plenty more space on the couch. "It's all good," he said. "I could learn a thing or two from him about being a badass." But Blaine hadn't heard a single word that Mike said. The effect of the alcohol and his furious blushing combined was making blood pulse noisily through every part of his head, including his ears. All he could manage was a stiff nod and a goofy smile.

Mike was absolutely mesmerized by the documentary. He didn't know why he hadn't realized it before, but everything about King Arthur appealed to him.  
"The Arthurian legend is a tragedy no matter how you spin it huh?"  
"Seems like it," said Blaine groggily. He tried to hide how sleepy he was, especially because he wanted to stay awake and make sure that Mike was actually doing work. But he was a lightweight, and he had had more than enough to knock him out for the night. "Is this…is the documentary actually helpful?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes.  
"Definitely," said Mike without taking his eyes off the TV. "I think his ideals and his sacrifices just resonate with me."  
"You don't say?" Blaine said in a low murmur. His eyelids were beginning to droop and his body was beginning to relax.  
"I've actually been using him a bit in my statement. If you don't mind, could you read–" Mike finally looked over at Blaine, only to find him slightly swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. He was doing his best not to nod off, but it seemed like he was losing. Mike smiled affectionately as he watched with amusement. Every few seconds Blaine would brush up against him, and then withdraw just as quickly. Then he'd swing over to the other side, or let his head fall back a little, and sometimes even snap his head forward, as if it were all part of an elaborate sleepy samba. Eventually, Blaine just gave up and reclined against the sofa, letting his head lean all the way backwards and thereby exposing his perfect Adam's apple. He then proceeded to open his mouth wide and snore ever so faintly. Like any amused teenager would do, Mike pulled out his iPhone and snapped a picture of the sleeping Blaine. He'd be sure to post and tag it on Facebook later, but for now he had something more important to do. First, he turned off the TV. Then, with delicate fingers, he pushed Blaine ever so lightly, until his whole body fell over and was leaning against Mike's own. He then used his shoulder as a pillow cushion for the other boy's limp head. Satisfied that he had saved Blaine from a terrible neck ache and relieved that he hadn't woken him up in order to do so, Mike began searching through his iTunes for quiet songs to play and ultimately settled on a Coldplay playlist. He finally turned his attention back to his writing, which surprisingly had progressed along nicely. And it was all thanks to Blaine. It was literally _all_ _thanks_ to Blaine. Mike didn't even want to imagine what would've happened if Blaine hadn't showed up today, if Blaine hadn't been so persistent with him yet understanding at the same time. At the very least, he probably would've cracked from the frustration and stress. Mike decided he'd have to thank Blaine somehow.  
"I wonder what you'd like as a thank you gift," Mike said quietly, more to himself than to the other boy.  
"_Tell me you love me_."

Mike's heart was pounding. Surely he must've misheard? Or maybe Blaine was joking? Even if he was joking, this was going way too far, especially after all the angst they had gone through. Mike leaned forward a bit to see if the boy was serious…only to realize that he was singing in his sleep. Blaine was actually singing along to Coldplay _in his sleep_. Mike couldn't even begin to explain everything that was wrong with this picture, from the boy's obsession with singing that transcended sleep, to his horrible timing. But oddly enough, these were some of things Mike liked the most about Blaine. Not that he was ready to admit it out loud yet.  
"Maybe I will," Mike said finally. He was slowly getting comfortable with the idea, the _possibility_ of there being something between the two of them. He'd deal with the complicated details (like his orientation) later, but for now he was content with having the younger boy's face nuzzled into his shoulder. Maybe he _hadn't_ meant to lead Blaine on in the first place, but now? Well…

As if on cue, the vocals transitioned into the climatic crooning that marked the nearing end of the song. Feeling sentimental, Mike softly cleared his throat before humming along as well.


	9. Crazy for This Girl

**Song used in this chapter: Evan and Jaron – Crazy for this Girl**

* * *

"Anddd welcome back everybody!" The voice rang clear through the air as applause and cheering erupted from everywhere. The darkness began to recede as lights turned on around Mike.  
"Where am I?" Mike asked quietly under his breath as he tried to make sense of why he was standing behind a podium. Then again, his dreams never really made sense so he didn't know why he even bothered asking.  
"I'm Kurt Hummel, filling in for Alex Trebek on tonight's special edition of _Gleeeee Jeopardy_!" Kurt struck a faaabulous pose from behind his own podium. Mike took a quick moment to examine dream Kurt and noted that other than his hairdo, which bore some slight resemblance to the game show host's hairdo, Kurt looked and acted _nothing_ like Alex Trebek. From the sparkling purple suit to the overly eager persona, Kurt was the exact antithesis of the bespectacled emcee.  
"Before we move into Double Jeopardy, let's take a look at our contestants and the current scoreboard. First is Michael Chang Jr. with a less than impressive ZERO dollars." Kurt shot Mike a disdainful glance.  
"Wait, what? How's that even possible? I'm a member of the _Brainiacs_, I definitely should've gotten _something_ right!" Mike's protests went unheard as Kurt dismissed him with a casual wave of his hand.  
"Next up is the ever charming Blaine Anderson." A stage light turned on to Mike's left and revealed an energetic Blaine, standing behind his own podium.  
"It's such a pleasure to be here Kurt, it truly is," said Blaine as he clasped his hands over his heart dramatically. "Never in a million years would I have imagined that I'd have the opportunity to be on this show, and with my _boyfriend_ no less!"  
"Blaine, you are just _so_ adorable!" said Kurt with a genuine smile. He then shot Mike a dirty look. "But your boyfriend? Not so much." Mike's mouth dropped open. He had thought Blaine was referring to _Kurt_ as his boyfriend…not himself.  
"We're _what_?" Mike asked as he turned to face Blaine. Blaine just smiled innocently but made no effort to explain himself.  
"Silence lowlife!" said Kurt (Mike would never understand why his subconscious was particularly vicious to him). "As I was saying, Blaine is currently in last place due to a string of incorrect answers…putting him at –$10,000."  
"What can I say Kurt, you just can't think straight when you're in love." Blaine looked over at Mike with a big, goofy grin. All Mike could think about was how long the 'string' of incorrect answers had to have to be to get to such a negative score, and in the _first_ round of Jeopardy no less.  
"No worries Blaine, I have high hopes for you. And now, moving on to our final contestant…" Kurt paused to let out an exaggerated sigh of frustration. "…Sebastian Smythe."

Mike wasn't sure he knew who the last guy was, but his subconscious must have recognized him from somewhere though. The boy's facial features were too well defined and his personality too particular to be just a figment of Mike's imagination.  
"Always a pleasure Kurt," said the suave looking teen, his face hiding contempt of the highest degree. "Say now…how's your father? Healthy I presume?"  
"I never knew you were one for pleasantries Sebastian. But he's doing just fine, thank you very much."  
"Oh really? Because all that moaning and groaning last night made me think I may have been a little rough on him in bed!" Sebastian started laughing obnoxiously at his own joke, which reminded Mike of Sean Connery for some reason. A _gay_ Sean Connery. Mike smirked as he mulled over the oxymoron, but the humor seemed to be lost on Kurt.  
"_Thank you,_ Mr. Smythe," said Kurt brusquely. "And unfortunately for us, you are in the lead with…$69." Sebastian let out a triumphant 'Hah!' which Kurt promptly ignored.  
"Let's just move on and take a look at the categories on the board. They are: Potent Potables…Old Bones…Organisms…Continents that End in '–sia'…Things that Throb…Pimples or Herpes…and What Common Fruit Am I Holding? By common, I mean fruits like bananas."  
"And where will you be holding said banana? In your hand? Or up your bu–"  
"_Thank you,_ Mr. Smythe," interjected Kurt before Sebastian could finish his sentence. Sebastian just howled with laughter while Kurt sighed in exasperation. "Blaine, it's your board."  
"Sure! How about…Old Bones for $200?" said Blaine. Sebastian rang his buzzer immediately.  
"…What _now_ Mr. Smythe?"  
Sebastian started listing off names. "Wes, Nick, Jeff–"  
"…What are you talking about?" asked a confused Kurt.  
"And then Trent, David Karofsky, and most recently your father." Sebastian finished his list with a smug look on his face.  
Kurt looked baffled for a few seconds before he suddenly realized what Sebastian was talking about. "Mr. Smythe, this category is about _fossils_, not people you've boned in the past."  
"Well that's a shame Hummel, because your father should certainly count as double: he's both old _and_ I've nailed him previously!" Sebastian started laughing hysterically again. Kurt massaged the temples of his forehead before continuing over Sebastian's raucous banter.  
"Let's just go with Continents that End in '–sia' for $200: This continent is where _Asian_ people originate from." Mike scoffed at the ridiculousness of the question. How could this even be a question on Jeopardy? Hell, how was this even a category? His momentary distraction allowed Blaine to buzz in before him.  
Kurt called on him immediately. "Yes Blaine?"  
"Europe!" said Blaine looked at Blaine in disbelief. "_Seriously_ Blaine?"  
Kurt shook his head sympathetically. "Not quite Blaine, but good try nonetheless. I'll reward you with $200 for effort." Mike turned to look at Kurt in disbelief as well.  
"You can't just give out money like that!"  
Sebastian rang his buzzer next. "_What is_ Europe?"  
Mike smacked his forehead. "Not answering in the form of a question wasn't why he got it wrong in the first place!"  
"That would be incorrect Mr. Smythe," Kurt said snidely.  
Mike finally pressed his buzzer. "What is–" But before Mike could answer, a double-tone buzzer rang, indicating that the allotted time for this question had run out.  
"Ohhh, so sorry Mike…no points for you!"  
"You can't be serious? The answer is fucking A–!"  
"Moving on! It's your board Mr. Smythe."  
"The odds are ever in my favor!" exclaimed Sebastian triumphantly. "…I'll take _Orgasms_ for $1000."  
"…You'll _what_?" Kurt asked before he did a double-take to reexamine all the categories on the board. He let out an annoyed growl when he finally saw what Sebastian was referring to.  
"_That_ says 'Organisms' and you know it!" But Sebastian was too busy cracking up at his own joke to hear him.

After several more painful minutes of Double Jeopardy, all of which matched if not exceeded the absurdity of the first few minutes, Kurt decided to move the game into Final Jeopardy.  
"The category is…Things You Keep in Your Pants. Well that's certainly an odd topic," said Kurt bemusedly. Sebastian started cheering wildly while Blaine giggled and massaged his groin. Mike cursed his dreams for having continuity.  
"This is the _only_ category you have a problem with?" asked Mike. Kurt ignored him as always.  
"For Final Jeopardy, all you have to do is write down something that you keep in your pants. Thirty seconds on the clock starting…now." The all too familiar Jeopardy theme started playing as the lights dimmed. Mike looked over at his fellow contestants to see how they were handling the prompt and sure enough…they weren't handling it at all. On the contrary, Sebastian was slicking his hair back while sneering at Kurt, and Blaine was just rummaging through the crotch area of his pants with both his hands. Mike shrugged resignedly as he picked up his pen to write something on the screen. _Might as well see this dream through to the end I suppose_.  
"Pssst, do you need help answering the question?" asked Blaine in a low whisper. Mike cocked an eyebrow as he glanced over at the shorter boy.  
"Pretty sure I know what_ I_ keep in my pants Blaine…" Blaine pouted in response, which Mike had to admit looked sort of adorable. But the pout disappeared before Mike even had a chance to feel guilty, and was quickly replaced by a mischievous smirk.  
"Well in that case, _I _need help answering the question…"  
Before Mike could even protest, Blaine had cornered him against his own podium. "W–wait Blaine!"  
"I can't wait any longer Mike!" Blaine was already trying to slide his right hand into Mike's pants.  
"B–but the music is about to end!" Mike smacked his forehead. Of all the excuses he could have used…  
"I don't care Mike! I'm tired of living a lie!"  
"That doesn't even make sense in this context…and stop that!" Mike swatted away a hand that had been groping his ass.  
"Woops, my bad." Mike looked behind him and realized that Sebastian had somehow joined their foray unnoticed.  
"It's ok Sebastian, you can join me up front," said Blaine as he scooted over a little.  
"You can't just offer me up like that!" said Mike frantically.  
"Yeah Blaine," agreed Sebastian. "…You have to get his belt off first."  
"That's not what I meant!"  
"…So I should take your shirt off first then?" Blaine asked.  
"What? No!"  
"Yeah, go with the pants first," said a third voice. Mike turned to his left and realized that Kurt had joined in. Mike gulped as all three of the boys simultaneously placed their hands on him and started pulling off various articles of clothing…

Mike woke up feeling completely immobilized. His arms, legs, and torso all felt like they were still being held down, so for an instant he actually believed that the trio of gay boys were truly there in his room. After a brief struggle for his life, it dawned on him that he was merely wrapped up in the throes of his bed sheets; all of the thrashing about he had done throughout the night must have caused said blankets to form a near-strangling death grip on his body. Relieved at his own silliness, Mike rolled off his bed and began to untangle himself from the sheets. About halfway through the process, he realized that he had a fairly serious case of morning wood hiding in his boxers. Finding it a little odd that he was turned on by the dream (or nightmare?), he tried to 'calm himself down' by thinking of boring, non-erotic images. Somewhere in-between thinking of shrubbery and rabbits, Mike became sidetracked, and instead turned his attention to how fascinating and amusing it was that he could hold up his bed sheets with the strength and length of his stiff member. He couldn't help but feel a sense of boyish pride in himself. He felt so proud in fact, that he tried swaying his hard-on from side to side to see if the cloth would stay draped over his manhood. And sure enough, they did. Mike smiled brightly and nodded his head approvingly at this display of manly prowess…and then froze in horror at the sound of someone clearing his throat. He slowly looked up from his bulge, mentally praying that it would quell itself that very instant (but to no avail). There in the _open_ doorway stood his father, arms crossed and eyes thankfully closed.  
"When you're done with…whatever it is you're doing, please join me in the kitchen for breakfast." His father turned and walked away quickly.  
"…Yes father." Mike let out a long sigh as the fabric finally fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Mike walked into the kitchen to find his father pouring himself a cup of coffee.  
"_Jou sahn _father," he said quickly without making any eye-contact. His father nodded solemnly to acknowledge his presence.  
"Have you turned in all of the UC applications?" he asked without looking up from the newspaper he was reading.  
"I have," said Mike as he walked over to the kitchen counter. There he found a plate with two pieces of toast, slathered with his mother's homemade kumquat preserves. "These for me?" His father grunted in response. Mike took that as a yes and scarfed down a slice. He quickly began in on the second slice.  
"How far are you on the Common Application?" his father asked brusquely, and Mike knew he was in for an interrogation.  
"Finishing it up right now."  
"And the supplements?"  
"Working on them."  
"High school transcript?"  
"Sent them in."  
"Community college units?"  
"Verified."  
"And your SAT scores?"  
"Ordered."  
"ACT too?"  
"Got them."  
"Recommendations?"  
"Check."  
"Studying for finals?"  
"Piece of cake."  
"Tie my tie?"  
"Alright."

They never really talked much. It was an unspoken understanding between them that talking was rarely necessary. But when they did talk, rare as it might be, their conversations were fairly similar to this one. A series of questions, short responses, and no pressing for details; that's the way the two of them liked it. What always signified the end of these talks was a request from his father that depended on the time of the day: "Tie my tie?" by morning or "Untie my tie?" by evening. Mike always obliged of course. And this time was no different. Working deftly, Mike tied a perfectly triangular half Windsor knot and added a shallow dimple in the tie as a finishing touch.  
"All done," said Mike as he gave the tie a final tug. His father nodded approvingly and flashed the briefest of grins. Mike smiled briefly before turning to grab his keys and backpack.  
Just as he was about to leave the kitchen, his father stopped him suddenly. "By the way Michael…"

Mike was forced to stop in his tracks. It was moments like these that he dreaded the most. The moments when his father decided to continue talking _despite_ finishing their ritual. Nothing good ever came of these "follow-up" conversations, so Mike braced himself for the worst.  
After a few seconds of silence, his father spoke again. "…Did someone come over last week? On Thanksgiving?" Mike gritted his teeth as he tried to figure out the best way to answer.  
He decided on the truth. "Yeah, a friend of mine from glee club," said Mike in an even tone. He didn't want to give his father any cause for suspicion, so he tried to sound as normal as possible.  
"I see. Did you two happen to cook?"  
Mike felt his body tense up. "…We did." He had no idea where this was going, but he was definitely feeling uncomfortable and slightly worried. Perhaps it was because he felt like one of those moments from his younger days, where his father would watch sternly as Mike swallowed his dose of Ritalin.  
"Well then," said his father in a louder voice. Mike winced. This tone was indicative of one of his father's scolding, the tone that was reserved for such moments like when young Mike would lie about taking his meds. It was a tone that in younger days, preceded the dreaded chopstick lashings. It was a tone that instilled disappointment, shame, and fear all in one berating.  
But the tone was deceiving this time. "Tell your friend that he or she should come over again. Your mother tried some of the sauce that was leftover and would like the recipe for it."  
Mike wiped away a small bead of sweat from his forehead before saying a nervous, "W–will do!" Without looking back, he jettisoned through the front door.

Mike rushed into the halls of McKinley still feeling slightly perturbed from the morning's conversation. He wasn't sure why he felt so uneasy when it came to…_almost_ discussing Blaine with his father. They were just friends after all, despite what his subconscious may have been hinting at all night. Plus he wasn't quite ready to admit anything beyond that, not without taking some time to think it through at least. For now, Mike was simply content with their friendship returning to normal. Blaine seemed just as happy with that prospect, if his recent behavior was any indication. In fact, for the past week, Blaine had taken it upon himself to plan and implement little surprises for Mike. It was all well and good at first, definitely enjoyable to say the least, but Mike eventually felt obligated to pay it back somehow. And so he started planning little surprises of his own. One surprise led to another, each one trying to top the other, and it had become an unofficial contest between the two of them. At present, it was Mike's turn for a surprise and he had recruited some extra personnel for this endeavor. On cue, his two best friends popped up right next to him.  
"Still on for practice after school?" asked Sam as he slung his arm around Mike's upper back.  
Mike nodded eagerly. "You know it! And did you remind Finn yet?"  
"We did, and he'll be there," said Artie as he rolled alongside the other two. "But we've been practicing all week without someone on the keyboards. I thought you said we needed someone for that?"  
"Oh it's ok, I got it covered," Mike said as he tried to hide a sheepish grin. He had it covered all right. He was keeping the performance a secret from a very particular pianist for the time being, but would definitely surprise him at the right moment.

Sam and Artie left Mike at his locker as they walked towards their first class of the day. Their teacher wasn't there yet, so they decided to stay outside in the hall to talk.  
"Don't you think it's kind of weird that Mike wants to do this song?" asked Sam. "I mean, since he and Tina split up after all."  
Artie shrugged in indifference. "Maybe, maybe not. But I don't really want to question him about it, especially since he just started coming back to glee practices and all."  
"True, true…still would like to know what he's got planned though. Maybe he wants to do it at Winter Ball?"  
"That's definitely possible!" said Artie in agreement, before quickly retracting his enthusiasm. "But Mike's been having trouble memorizing the lyrics. Don't know if he'll be ready in time…"  
Sam shared his friend's downcast expression. "And not to mention we don't have someone on the keyboards yet."  
"…Why don't we just ask Blaine?" Artie asked offhandedly as he started rolling himself into the classroom.  
Sam grabbed Artie's wheelchair by the handle. "Wait, why _don't _we just ask him?" The two boys stood still for a moment as they pondered why they hadn't thought of this sooner. It was such an obvious and easy choice, they were surprised Mike hadn't thought of it himself. With that, Artie snapped out his phone and speedily typed out a text.

The bell rang, marking the end of the school day. Without missing a beat, Mike sprinted from his classroom over to the choir room. He cautiously poked his head in to see if the coast was clear and when he was satisfied that it was so, entered the room. Reaching into his back pocket, he whipped out the lyrics to the song he had been practicing and began to mouth the words quietly. But try as he might, he was still having some difficulty memorizing the words to the song. It was rather abnormal, since this had never been an issue before. The only thing he could attribute his trouble to was that this was his first _true_ solo for glee club ever, and perhaps the pressure was messing with his ability to focus. But he forced himself to endure the frustration, if only for the fact that Blaine would be sure to like this surprise…that and this would be a pretty hard surprise to top.  
"Whatcha got there?" asked a voice from behind Mike.  
"Lyrics," said Mike absentmindedly. He was too focused on rehearsing that he hadn't heard someone come in nor did he really register the voice of who he was talking with.  
"Really? What song?" Mike could feel the other person struggling to look over his shoulder, probably due to a height difference.  
"Hold on a sec, just let me finish memorizing this line." Mike took a step away from the curious stranger, trying to block him out.  
"Oh I can help with that," said the person assuredly. "I do it all the time after all." He was right behind Mike again and _still_ struggling to peek over his shoulder, as if standing on his tip toes. Mike found himself smirking at the charming persistence.  
"No it's ok, I got this Bla–" Mike abruptly looked up from his sheet music as he finally realized who he was talking to. He spun around to face Blaine, who was looking ever so innocent and inquisitive.  
"Sup Mike?"  
"N–nothing much." Mike tried to think of a way to change the topic, but he already knew that his cover was semi-blown. Instead, he tried to turn it back on the other boy. "What are you doing here? I thought you went home already."  
Blaine walked to the back of the room and dropped his backpack down. "Nope, Sam and Artie said they wanted me to play the keyboard for some song they're doing." He then proceeded to set up the keyboard as he continued talking. "Are you singing with them? They didn't tell me what the song was but I'm guessing it had to be something poppy or boy-band for them to ask me to join in.  
Mike tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt. "Y–yeah it is."

Blaine wasn't supposed to be here. Not yet at least. Not until Mike got the vocals down flawlessly. In his mind, he was going to perfect the song first and _then_ invite Blaine to 'practice' with them. Of course he'd tell Blaine afterwards that it was his first solo ever, and the other boy would be oh so impressed by it. But now? Now was too soon. He was nowhere close to ready yet.  
"Pop songs are perfect for me huh," Blaine noted with amusement as he started playing arpeggios and scales to warm up. "Mind if I take a look at the sheet music? I mean I can sight read and all, but it'd definitely help if I had some time to look it over first."  
"Uhm…I just remembered I have to be somewhere," said Mike as he pointed to the door. "Let's practice another time?"  
"Not _this_ again Mike…" Blaine sighed and pouted at the same time. "I thought we were past this whole phase?"  
"Oh it's nothing like that. I just have to–"  
"Practice a lot?" asked Sam as he swooped in through the door and caught Mike in a walking clothesline maneuver.  
"You really do need to Mike," said Finn as he walked in behind Sam. "And this is coming from the guy who didn't memorize his home address until 5th grade…"  
"Didn't? Or _couldn't_?" asked Artie upon entering last, thereby making it officially impossible to escape. "And aren't you glad we got Blaine to help out? Now we can be boy-band status!" Mike opened his mouth to protest but could already tell that he had no way of getting out of this. Since Finn was already seated behind the drum set and Artie and Sam were tuning their guitars, it would just seem awkward for Mike to walk out right then and there. He sighed in resignation.  
"So about that sheet music…" said Blaine keenly. "Don't you need to tell me what song we're doing?"  
"Oh we're doing–"  
But Mike cut off the boys before they had a chance to answer. "Nuh uh, he doesn't need to know the title. It'll be a surprise." Mike handed Blaine a separate copy of the sheet music (without any lyrics on it) before shooting him a quick wink.  
Blaine lightly bit his lower lip as he tried to repress a genuine smile. "Oh is that how it's going to be?" Blaine asked as he started playing the introductory melody. But before Mike could respond, the three other boys promptly joined in with their own instruments. After taking in a deep but shaky breath, Mike started to sing.

_She rolls the window down  
And she talks over the sound  
Of the cars that pass us by  
And I don't know why  
But she's changed my mind_

Mike knew his nerves were affecting his voice. Despite how smooth he was acting a few seconds ago, he could already hear the slight faltering in his pitch caused by the trembling in his throat. Hoping for some moral support, he glanced over at Sam and Artie. But instead of being reassuring, they gave him a questioning look as if to ask him what was wrong. All Mike could do was exhale sharply before starting into the chorus.

_Would you look at her  
She looks at me  
She's got me thinking about her constantly  
But she don't know how I feel  
And as she carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if she's figured it out  
I'm crazy for this girl  
__Yeah I'm crazy for this __**boy**_

Mike felt like choking. Not being able to sing with a steady voice was one thing, but messing up the lyrics to the chorus? Mixing up the words to the part of the song that was easiest to remember? How'd he even screw up so fast in the first place? It was all utterly inexcusable. He tried to recover but unfortunately for him, the small slip-up had had the most drastic of effects: it made his brain go _blank_. He simply could _not_ remember the second verse of the song. All he _could_ do was let his mouth hang open dumbly as he mentally scrambled to recall the next few lines. But nothing came to mind, and so nothing came out of his mouth.

By now, Sam, Artie, and Finn had stopped playing and were examining him quizzically. It wasn't like Mike to just stop and malfunction like that; he could normally get up from a mistake or improvise if worst came to worst, but stopping completely was highly unusual. They were so surprised, that it took all four of them a while to realize that Blaine was _still_ playing his instrument. In fact, he was looping through the same few measures over and over again, as if to give Mike an infinite number of chances to jump back into the song whenever he was ready. But after several more seconds of Mike just gaping at him, Blaine knew he'd have to take matters into his own hand. Without hesitating, he began singing the next verse.

_**He**__ was the one to hold me  
The night the sky fell down  
And what was I thinking when  
The world didn't end  
Why didn't I know what I know now_

Blaine knew the words to this song forward and backwards. The change in pronoun was intentional of course because honestly, it's what gay boys liked to do: change the genders in a song so that it fit their orientation. None of the other boys seemed to care that Blaine was having a hey day with the wordplay, all of them having chalked it up to some sort of gay man's joke that would be offensive of them to comment on. And besides, Blaine certainly couldn't help but think of a special boy as he sang this song…it was just too bad that said boy was having a pretty awful brain fart. As the other boys started joining back into the song, Blaine smiled encouragingly at Mike in hopes of getting him to snap out of whatever it was that was debilitating him so. It was no use however; Mike was still too tripped up to even dance, let alone sing. And so Blaine continued to sing, hoping that he might salvage some of Mike's confidence.

_Would you look at __**him**__  
__**He**__ looks at me  
__**He's**__ got me thinking about __**him**__ constantly  
But __**he**__ don't know how I feel  
And as __**he**__ carries on without a doubt  
I wonder if __**he's**__ figured it out  
I'm crazy for this __**boy  
**__Yeah I'm crazy for this __**boy**_

There was something cute about the way Mike was still staring at him. Every time he switched the feminine pronoun for the masculine one, Mike's vacant expression would gradually shift into a gentler, grateful gaze. Of course it was entirely possible that Blaine was only imagining it, but it caused him to blush furiously all the same. With a gentle upward nod of his head, Blaine silently invited Mike to join him in singing the bridge. Thankfully, Mike responded this time. He still seemed pretty unsure of his voice, but at least managed to walk over to where Blaine was playing and quietly mouth 'You first.' Understanding exactly what he meant, Blaine gladly obliged as he started to sing again.

_Right now (right now)  
Face to face (face to face)  
All my fears (all my fears)  
Pushed aside  
__And right now (right now)  
__I'm ready to spend the rest of my life (my life)  
__With you_

Blaine sang first and then Mike would echo softly in harmony. It was obviously not what Mike had envisioned for his first solo since it wasn't even a solo anymore (darn Blaine for getting all the songs!). Still, it was better than being completely mute like he was moments prior, and it was definitely better than just giving up. _All thanks to Blaine_, Mike thought to himself. All thanks tothat dapper little boy who would never cease to amaze him. Even when it was Mike's turn to plan a surprise, Blaine had somehow managed to turn it into one of his own. But perhaps that's why Mike ended up preferring this arrangement to the original one. He'd have to think of a better (and foolproof) surprise for next time, but for now, Mike was satisfied with joining Blaine in singing the chorus one last time.

The music wound down relatively quickly. Not wanting to stick around and let the boys pester and tease him about forgetting the lyrics _yet again_, Mike promptly excused himself to go get a drink from the water fountain. Of course Blaine decided to tag along.  
"That doesn't count as my surprise you know," said Mike as he kept a quick pace to stay a few steps ahead of the other boy.  
Blaine readily trotted along behind him. "Actually, it was quite the surprise."  
"Surprised at how bad it was?"  
Blaine tried to look comforting as he caught up to Mike. "I wouldn't necessarily say _bad_ per se…" Mike just scoffed as he leaned over to drink from the fountain. "Granted, I don't think I've seen you lose your cool like that before. It was definitely a surprise in that sense."  
"You don't say?" Mike asked slightly sarcastically as he pressed his thumb down on the spout, causing a stream of water to spray Blaine.  
The other boy laughed as he playfully bumped Mike away from the fountain. "Un_called_ for Mike!"  
"I thought you'd enjoy _that_ kind of surprise," said Mike teasingly.  
"…Wait was that a dirty joke?" Blaine asked as he blushed. Mike smirked as he shook his head judgingly, causing the other boy to face-palm.  
"Let's head back," said Mike in between fits of chuckling.  
"Wait Mike, before we do…" Blaine bit his lower lip nervously as he thought about how best to say what he wanted to say next.  
"Yeah?"  
"I was definitely surprised today, you know? By your song choice."  
"Well I'm glad you liked it. Despite my mishap and all." Mike knew he sounded a bit dismissive, but he wanted to avoid the conversation that he knew was coming up. He had the feeling Blaine wasn't going to let it drop so easily though.

And he was right.  
"I was also pretty surprised that you seemed so open to uh, playing along with my lyrics back there," Blaine said bashfully.  
"…I forgot the words, so I was just copying what you were singing." It was an obvious and blatant lie, and Mike wouldn't have been surprised if Blaine had called him out on it immediately. But not lying would have meant admitting to Blaine that he had picked this specific song because he perhaps… possibly… _probably_ meant every word of it. He honestly hadn't figured it out yet. He just knew that he liked having Blaine around, that he liked how Blaine could make him dance and smile and even_ sing_ like nobody else could, and frankly wasn't that a big enough epiphany already? Mike felt like he deserved _some _credit for coming this far in his mentality, especially when compared to how he used to go into convulsive fits of shame and remorse from the mere sight of Blaine.  
"I see." Blaine said those two words so simply and resolutely, that it almost made Mike feel disappointed that the shorter teen had given in so easily. He had half-expected Blaine to tease him a little, and maybe even go as far as to coerce a heart-warming confession out of him. So to see the brunette quit so effortlessly without some sort of protest, both worried and relieved Mike. Not knowing what else to say thought, Mike finally decided to turn and head back to the choir room.

Blaine _knew_ he was crazy for this boy. As trite and cliché as it was, Blaine _knew_ that he was 'head over heels' crazy for this boy. So crazy, that he was seriously contemplating professing his feelings, his non-bromantic but instead very romantic feelings, right then and there. But Blaine knew that kind of move wouldn't work on Mike. It was _crazy_ after all. So instead, Blaine grasped the tip of the back of Mike's shirt to get his attention.  
"Mike," he called out gently but firmly.  
"What's up?" Mike turned slightly to look back over his shoulder. Blaine felt a lump form in his throat as he cast his gaze downwards. In the back of his head, he thought once more about how crazy it would be to profess his feelings out of the blue. But what he was about to do right now? It was even _crazier_.  
"Can you–I mean, _would_ you…like to go to Winter Ball? With me?"


	10. Dance With Somebody

**Song used in this chapter: Mando Diao – Dance with Somebody. Another one of those songs you need to hear LIVE. I recommend going on YouTube and looking up the HD video of their performance at Rock Am Ring in 2011, even though it's about 8 min. Also, this marks the last of the re-uploaded and beta-ed chapters. Chapter 11 forward will finally be all new material (but unbeta-ed).**

* * *

Blaine let out a ragged sigh as he stepped out of the shower. Long hot showers _usually_ helped him destress, but it wasn't quite cutting it tonight. It takes a lot more than just a shower to forget the sting of having to go to a date dance…_dateless_. Why he was still going in the first place, he wasn't quite sure. Going stag to a date dance, especially as a gay boy in a predominantly homophobic school, surely could not end well. Perhaps it was the appeal of going to his first major dance at his new school (going to prom the previous year didn't count since he wasn't a student at McKinley back then). And it wasn't like he was going alone per se. Though he may be dateless, a few of his fellow glee clubbers promised that they were going to be there too, and had even gotten together to practice one or two songs to perform that night. So yes being dateless would suck, but performing in front of a crowd would more than make up for it…or so he hoped.  
"Blaaaine, can you come down here honeyyy?" his mother called him from downstairs.  
"Just a meee-nuttt," Blaine said in his best Filipino accent. His mother's accent wasn't terribly noticeable, but she did have this tendency to drag out a lot of her words. It was a quirk that Blaine enjoyed poking fun at and exaggerating every now and then, much to his mother's displeasure.  
"Ey boy," she said in a more serious tone. "You better not be mawww-king me."  
"Wouldn't dreeeam of it," said Blaine as he tried to stifle a snigger. "But seriously, I'll be down once I finish getting ready."  
"Alriiight, but I think you bedda hurry up…" Nonetheless, Blaine decided to take his time. You couldn't (and shouldn't!) rush when gelling your hair, or you'd risk a complete disaster. Besides, the tedium of doing his hair would give him yet another chance to try and figure out just _where_ he went wrong with Mike.

Blaine could recall the legitimate confusion in Mike's voice as he cocked his head to look back at Blaine.  
"…Go _where_? With _who_?"  
"W–winter Ball. With me. If you don't mind, that is." Blaine was suddenly aware of how pathetic he looked clinging on to the corner of Mike's t-shirt. He wanted to let go, but was afraid that Mike might speed off the minute he released his fingers. Judging by how uncomfortable Mike looked at that moment, he was almost certain of it.  
"You don't mean…going as in…just the two of us?" Blaine wasn't sure what Mike was trying to ask, since it sounded like a jumble of incoherent phrases and clauses. But he knew better than to expect a yes anymore. All he was hoping for now was a gentle no.  
"I–I understand Mike, you don't have to explain," he said dejectedly. Without looking up, Blaine let the hand clutching Mike's shirt fall to his side. "I keep forgetting that we're just _friends_, I don't know why keep pushing you this way." Blaine was talking rapidly, as he was so prone to do when he was embarrassed beyond belief. Embarrassed…and completely disheartened. If anything, now would be a good time for Mike to run away.

But Mike didn't. "Well, it's flattering to say the least," he said indifferently, as if he wasn't actually at all flattered.  
"It's ok Mike, you _really _don't have to explain. Let me just…bang my head against a locker for a few minutes. Tends to help me forget my stupid impulses, and everything in general."  
He heard Mike chuckle quietly before placing both his hands firmly on Blaine's shoulders. "At least let me say that it'd be kind of…awkward, you know? If I went to Winter Ball '_with you_' with you, given my circumstances and all…" Despite Mike's strong hands giving him physical support, Mike's words had emotionally crushed him. Blaine supposed that that was going to be as gentle a letdown as he could've possibly gotten for asking a straight boy out to a public event, but it didn't make it any less bitter.  
"Yeah I know," said Blaine as he squirmed uneasily under Mike's grip. "So could you–could you not tell anyone about this? About me asking you? Kind of embarrassed enough already."  
"Sure Blaine."

And that was the first and last time they ever talked about it. Two whole weeks had passed and not one single awkward mention of that event, much to Blaine's relief. To his even greater relief, Mike hadn't gone all 'withdrawal mode' on him like he had done previously. If anything, things had gotten slightly better between them since then. It was as if Mike was taking extra measures and precautions to make it up to Blaine for having rejected him. Not that any of it was necessary though. Blaine was just content with their having their friendship intact…their friendship that would never amount to anything more than just a bromance. Other than that though, everything was just…peachy.  
"Blaaaine, hurry up and come down here puh-leeez."  
"Almost done!" said Blaine as he nodded approvingly at his hairdo. Normally, his mother's voice would've acquired a rather shrill tone by now if she was truly impatient. The fact that she lacked it at the moment either meant that she didn't really need him to come down that soon or his father was taking a nap and she didn't want to wake him up. Didn't really matter though, since Blaine still needed to put on his outfit: a plain white dress shirt, skinny black dress slacks, a fitted dark green blazer, and finally a red bowtie. Granted, this wasn't as creative or spiffy as he normally dressed, but there wasn't really anyone for whom he needed to 'dress to impress.' But he also wasn't feeling all that creative in the first place, and he figured that he'd get by with downgrading his dapperness this one time.

He had just finished putting on all his clothes and was putting the finishing touches on his bowtie when his mom barged into his room.  
"Blaaaine, why you taking so long?" she asked crossly. The shrill tone was present now.  
"Sorry mom, just about finished." Blaine tugged on both ends of his bowtie and turned to smile at his mother. He could see the irritation fading from her face before he could even ask her how he looked.  
"Ohhh Blaine, when did-joo get so handsome huh?" She walked up to him and straightened out his collar.  
"Thanks mom. By the way, are you in some kind of rush? I was planning to drive myself, so you can go do whatever it is you need to do."  
"Oh it's not that," she said with a slight perk in her voice and a sly smile. "But you really should hurry downstairs already."

Blaine was a bit curious as to what his mother could have been referring to, so made his way downstairs promptly. He assumed that it must've been some kind of culinary surprise, based on the smell of butter wafting through the air. As he made his way to the kitchen, he passed by the living room where his father was standing behind their massive leather couch to watch something on TV. He had a bowl tucked under his arm, which Blaine assumed to be the origin of the rich aroma.  
"What'd mom make?" Blaine asked as he approached his father from behind. His father turned slightly to peer back at him over his shoulder.  
"Nothing. I just popped some popcorn for the movie your mom and I were about to watch, but…" His father paused to take a big step to the side. "Seems someone got to the TV before we did." Blaine hadn't seen it a few seconds ago due to his father's large body obstructing his view, but he now saw a tuft of black hair resting along the back of the sofa. He scrunched his eyes to better examine the familiar looking hair and quickly realized who it was.

It was Mike. An asleep Mike for that matter, with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open…and full of popcorn.  
"Dad!" Blaine whispered angrily at his father. "Popcorn? Seriously?"  
His father shrugged in indifference. "You kept him waiting so long he fell asleep. And then I got bored waiting for you to come wake him up."  
"So you thought it'd be _fun_ to stuff popcorn in his mouth?"  
"Actually, I was dropping them in. From eye level though. It's surprisingly difficult, though I guess it'd be easier for someone short like you." His father stopped to stuff a few kernels in his mouth and chew smugly.  
Blaine furrowed his eyebrows and did his best to look disapprovingly at his father. "You could've just woken him up yourself."  
"Oh come on Blaine, you know I don't do well with you and your…friends." His father hesitated with the last word. He always did when it came to that topic.  
"He's not _that_ kind of friend, thank you very much." Blaine stepped behind him and started to push his father out of the living room.  
"Now hold on a minute…" His father planted both his feet firmly into the floor, making it impossible for Blaine to budge his sturdy frame.  
"What now dad?" he asked tiredly. His father sure wasn't giving up easy tonight.  
"I just wanted to say…that though we may be pretty different as fathers and sons go–"  
"Pretty sure the only thing we truly have in common is our genes."  
"…We both like gelato don't we?"  
Blaine opened his mouth to disagree, but instead found himself nodding in agreement. "Anyways, as you were saying?"  
"Right. So though we may be pretty different as fathers and sons go, I am proud that we have at least one key similarity."  
"Which is…?" Blaine looked at his father expectantly. He certainly hadn't planned on having an emotional father-son moment tonight, but he definitely wouldn't mind one if it came to it. It'd be another pleasant surprise to add onto the unexpected arrival of Mike.  
"…Our Asian fetish," his father said rather anticlimactically as he gestured over to the sleeping Asian boy.  
"What you say?" shouted Blaine's mother from the other room, as her slipper whizzed through the air and hit the side of his father's head with deadly precision.

After carefully picking the popcorn out of Mike's mouth, waking him up gently, and saying bye to his parents, the two boys finally settled into the front seats of Mike's Corolla. It was only then that Blaine asked the question that he had wanted to ask right from the very beginning, but was too embarrassed to ask in front of his parents.  
"Why are you here Mike? I thought you said you didn't want to go Winter Ball with me."  
"Well yeah, I don't want to go to Winter Ball '_with you_' with you…like dates or anything. It'd be too soon after my break up with Tina and all…"  
"Wait, _that's_ why?" Blaine asked with a sudden surge of relief and hope. "It's not because–not because I'm a guy?" Mike paused to ponder the notion.  
"Now that you mention it, I never really thought about it like that…"  
"So wait, does that mean you're bi–" But before Blaine could finish his question, Mike cut him off by imitating the sound of tires screeching to a halt.  
"Remember how you promised me that we weren't going to go there yet? Hm?"  
"Oh. Right…" Blaine said sheepishly. "But that doesn't explain why you're here. We could've just met up at the dance."  
Mike started up the car and backed out of Blaine's driveway. "I don't know actually. I guess I kind of acted on an impulse? I'm sure you understand," he said wryly, a clear jab at Blaine's brash nature.  
Blaine let his mouth drop open in feigned offense. "You mock me! I'll have you know that I don't always act that way, it's just around certain–"  
"Hey Blaine?"  
Blaine rolled his eyes as he paused his playful rant. "Yes Mike? Going to make fun of me again?"  
Mike shook his head. "You look handsome tonight." He winked coyly at the now furiously blushing Blaine, who suddenly couldn't find the words to return the compliment.

They arrived at the dance a little after it began, but thankfully before it got too crowded. Surprisingly, they didn't get any of the hostile and homophobic stares that Blaine was expecting to get when they first entered the gym. He was sure _someone_ was going to assume that the two of them were each other's dates (or he might've just been hoping that they looked that way), but not a single person batted an eye at the sight of them entering the venue together. That's when Blaine realized that the two of them weren't wearing matching outfits, which probably explained why no one bothered to take a second look at them. Nevertheless, Blaine took a moment to admire Mike's attire for the occasion: a white dress shirt that had shortened sleeves such that the cuffs reached only slightly past his elbows, slim black slacks that were neatly pressed, and a red/green plaid vest that was perfect for this time of year. No tie or bowtie this time, he just left the top few buttons undone to reveal a bit of his bare chest (much to Blaine's guilty pleasure).  
"You know who's going to be here tonight?" Mike's question came abruptly, pulling Blaine's attention away from the exposed skin.  
"Well, there's Finn and Rachel." Blaine pointed to the dance floor where the couple was dancing, albeit awkwardly due to the tremendous height difference.  
"I'm pretty sure Puck is here somewhere…" Mike mused aloud. Puck had no shame in going dateless to a date dance. He'd just take someone else's date.  
"And is that…Sam and Mercedes?" Blaine asked in genuine surprise, but Mike nodded as if it were nothing new. He was just about to ask Mike about this new (and kind of random) couple, when a sudden voice grabbed their attention.  
"Well if it isn't twinkle toes and hobbit." Mike and Blaine flinched reflexively as they turned to face the patronizing voice. It was none other than Santana, accompanied by Brittany as always.  
"Always a pleasure." Mike glared angrily at the Latina, before finally breaking into a genuine smile as he leaned in for a hug from the two giggling girls.  
"Of course Chang," said Santana as she broke from the hug. "Hey Britt, I think Mike wants to dance!" Brittany squealed in delight as she literally pounced on Mike before he could object. His eyes bulged open as Brittany began riding him hard, her pelvic thrusts guiding him towards the center of the dance floor. It wasn't long before the momentum from Brittany's gyrating hips caused him to give in and just dance.

Blaine made a move to follow after them but Santana pulled him back by the neck of his collar.  
"Uhm…can I help you with something?" Blaine asked worriedly. Mike may have been at risk for snapping his back in half from Brittany's extreme dancing, but Blaine knew that being alone with Santana was the scarier of the two situations.  
"Yeah you can," Santana said brusquely. "Mind telling me what's up between you two?" She crossed her arms and gave Blaine the most piercing stare he'd ever felt.  
"Between who, me and Mike?" Blaine asked dumbfounded. "N–nothing! Why would you even think that?" Blaine started to back away as Santana began advancing towards him.  
"Because of Britt. She _knows_ about these kinds of things." In a sudden moment of lucidity, Blaine recalled how Brittany had once overheard one of his and Mike's more…intimate conversations (the one about body hair). Blaine wasn't sure if Brittany had ever told Santana, and he definitely didn't know what the brunette was up to calling him out like this, but he knew no good could come of whatever it was. He had to do everything in his power to keep her from getting any more suspicious.  
So, he tried to distract her with a tangent. "Wait, Brittany couldn't even tell the different between Kurt and me for the first month of school."  
"Yeah well, Kurt's gay and you're other gay so you're both essentially the same."  
"T–that's offensive…" Blaine tried to say indignantly. It sounded more like a weak whimper.  
"That's the _truth_," Santana said decisively as she finally cornered Blaine against the gym wall. "And what I want from you now is the _whole_ truth."

Blaine gulped audibly. So much for distracting her. Now he had to play dumb.  
"I–I don't know what you're talking about." Blaine looked away defiantly, as if it would slow down Santana's interrogation.  
She smirked as she firmly placed both her hands against the wall, one on each side of Blaine's head, as if to pin him to one spot. "Well then, I hate to break it to you but hitting on a straight boy like Mike is a lost cause." Blaine nodded slowly in response and let out a sigh of relief, thinking that that had marked the end of their excruciating chat.  
Instead, Santana leaned in precariously close to his ear and whispered, "…But if it so happened that he _wasn't_ straight, he'd be quite the catch huh?"  
Blaine gulped nervously as he fiddled his fingers. "I–I try not to think of stuff like that. No point in getting my hopes up r–right?" He knew she was onto something. What made it worse was that she knew that he knew she was onto something, and she was savoring her chance to toy with him.  
"Uh huh, you just keep telling yourself that _duende_," Santana said as she finally backed away. There was something sinister about the way she was smiling that left Blaine shaken up even as he tried to protest.  
"I–I'm really not hitting on him though…" She looked back at him with an arched eyebrow, as if challenging him to continue speaking.  
When she saw that he couldn't (or wouldn't?), she chuckled dismissively. "You know, it'd be nice if the spotlight was on some other same-sex couple besides Brittany and myself…"  
Blaine had long lost his bold façade from earlier and was clearly panicking at this point. "Wait Santana! Whatever it is you think that's going on, I assure you it's–" Halfway through his sentence, the Latina pressed a lone finger to his lips, effectively silencing him.  
"Shut up Blaine," she commanded with a sneer. Santana turned away sharply, letting her dress flutter along noiselessly. "And by the way, don't forget to warm up for your performance tonight." Judging by the knot in his throat, Blaine wasn't sure if he could even perform anymore.

After rejoining Mike, the two boys spent most of their time on the side of the gym people-watching, munching on goodies, and busting out little dance moves every now and then when it fit the song. It was a tepid way to 'enjoy' the dance and it certainly wasn't what Blaine had in mind for the night, but the unease that Santana had cast on him was preventing him from actually having a good time. Mike was quick pick to pick up on the unspoken tension, but try as he might to alleviate the awkward air with his slick dancing, nothing seemed to put Blaine's mind at ease. If anything, it just made him feel that much guiltier for holding Mike back from letting loose and going all out as he most likely would have in ordinary circumstances.  
"I'm sorry Mike, you can go out there and dance. You don't have to stick with me the whole time," said Blaine as he tried to push Mike towards the dance floor.  
Mike easily side-stepped Blaine with a playful dance maneuver. "Nah I'm good!"  
"You sure? I kind of feel bad dragging you down like this…" Blaine looked gingerly at his own feet as he made a pathetic attempt at stepping to the beat of the music.  
Mike chuckled as he placed both his hands firmly on the slighter boy's shoulders. "Ok, if you're going to dance like you did with the Warblers, then that _might _be a drag." The taller boy smiled cheekily as he used his hands to help the other boy sway his upper body to the rhythm.  
"I thought our routines were cute!" Blaine said with actual surprise in his voice. He genuinely thought everyone had enjoyed their dancing. Mike mentally agreed to a certain extent, but wasn't about to voice that right now. Instead, he observed with delight how the boy in front of him was now moving more fluidly than before.  
"Just…try to let your instincts take over, ok? I mean, don't gay guys have a penchant for going crazy at dances?"  
Blaine pretended to look offended at the stereotype before looking down at his feet bashfully. "I can dance to a routine and all that but, I guess I just don't know how to…dance with somebody else."  
"How ironic that it's your song choice then."

Blaine jolted upright when he realized that it wasn't Mike's voice speaking to him. Brittany and Santana were standing in front of him where Mike had been seconds earlier, poised like perfect escorts.  
"…What's happening?" Mike asked with a worried chuckle, but the two girls made no effort to answer him. With lightning speed, the two of them linked one of their arms around each of Blaine's own and began dragging him towards the front of the gym. Blaine had been caught so off-guard, that he didn't even put up a fight the whole time. Instead, he stood lamely in the exact spot the girls had dumped him off. It wasn't until he saw Puck, Finn, and Sam waiting with their respective instruments that he realized he had been brought up on stage.  
"Took you long enough," said Puck gruffly. "Hurry, we're up right after this song ends." All Blaine could manage was a simple nod as he took his place at the piano. He watched as Brittany and Santana walked to the other side of the piano where their microphones awaited them. With a quick peek over his shoulder, he confirmed that the boys were in their places and ready to go. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel and Mercedes' faces at the edge of the stage, winking and shouting encouraging praise…but no Mike. Blaine quickly scanned the periphery for said boy, but to no avail. He was nowhere to be seen, or at least not up close. The dancer's absence vexed him, but he had little time to do anything about it. The current song had already faded out and the spotlight had focused in on Blaine, essentially trapping him where he was sitting. Begrudgingly, the singer gave up his search and inhaled deeply to calm his nerves.  
"Goooood evening ladies and gents, how we all doing tonight?" Blaine asked in his most suave voice possible, perfectly hiding his disappointment from seconds ago. The crowd cheered loudly, whistling and hooting to show their excitement for a live performance.  
"We're New Directions, and we're here to get you to DANCE. WITH. SOMEBODY!" The entire gym broke out into wild screams of ecstasy, signaling to Blaine that they had already been worked up sufficiently throughout the night, and he was just adding even more fuel to the fire. Without wasting a moment, Blaine started into his piano intro with the subtle background accompaniment of guitars and violins.

_Break your happy home  
Learn to sing along  
To the music, to the music  
Clap your hands and shake  
On a winter's night  
To the music, to the music_

Blaine sang and played the entire first verse without opening his eyes, partly lost in the melody of lyrics and partly because he hoped to see Mike when he did open his eyes. Except that when he did, he found no trace of the lean teen. Half of him felt a bit miffed, frustrated that his favorite dancer wouldn't grace him with his presence (or even a sighting!), but the other half was relieved that said boy was nowhere in sight. Blaine knew he wouldn't have been able to sing if he had his eyes on Mike, he'd be too enamored by his dancing! Hell, he might've even jumped off the stage to join Mike, despite knowing he would've never been able to keep up with the Asian.

_I'm falling in love with your favorite song  
I'm gonna sing it all night long  
I'm gonna dance with somebody  
Dance with somebody  
Dance, dance, dance_

Brittany and Santana had joined in on harmony by this point, and all the other instruments were quickening their tempo and increasing in volume. In response, Blaine could feel himself sit up straighter and play faster in order to keep up with all of the music around him. Just when he thought the symphony of sounds couldn't get any more glorious, the crowd began to clap in a rapid rhythm, adding to the growing frenzy of the song. Blaine couldn't help but smile as he leaned in close to his microphone and sang with even more bravado than before.

_When you're all alone  
We become your home  
We're the music, we're the music  
When your love's away  
And you feel betrayed  
We're the music, sweet music_

There's always a point in a performance when the whole band on stage is singing and playing and thoroughly enjoying the intensity of the moment, and Blaine could tell that this was that exact moment. He belted out the chorus again and watched as the crowd ate up his words and lived them out. Everyone, _everyone_, was dancing with _somebody_ at this point. It didn't matter if it was the date they came with or if they even knew each other; they were all on their feet and _dancing_. It was simply inspiring to see that his music could have such a…orgy-inducing effect. But alas, as much as he wanted this moment to continue on forever, the band slowed down to a leisurely rhythm to give the frenzied crowd the release they so needed. The music finally diminished completely, letting Blaine croon the next few lines _acapella_.

_I'm falling in looove  
__With your faaavorite songgg  
__And I'm gooonna sing ittt  
__All night longgg  
__And I'm gonna daaance  
__With somebody!_

"Whasssgood McKinley!" Puck shouted at the top of his lungs as soon as Blaine finished his vocal interlude, causing the gym to roar back in response. It was as if everyone there had taken some kind of drug (he didn't put it past Puck to spike the punch bowl) and was going absolutely crazy. As Blaine stood up in preparation to bow and receive his well-deserved applause, Santana rushed over to Blaine's side.  
"One more time through Blaine, the crowd is _loving _it," she whispered frantically into his ear. He smiled. How could he not oblige? He turned to check on the other boys and motioned for them to get ready to play through the chorus one more time. As for himself, he stayed standing as he played an improvised piano rift, starting from the lowest octaves and making his way up to the highest ones. This gave the rest of the band the time they needed to catch up and before he knew it, the music was blaring once again. Feeling a little spontaneous, and partly because he wanted to finally watch Mike dance while he sang, Blaine grabbed his microphone from its stand and gestured for Brittany and Santana to follow him to the edge of the stage where he once more resumed his search. The three of them launched back into the chorus with full force, though Blaine was clearly distracted by his efforts to find the _still_ missing Mike. So distracted in fact, that he didn't notice the two girls sneak up behind him…and literally _kick_ him off the stage with the point of their heels, sending him _flying_ through the air and ultimately _falling_ to the ground.

He never made it to the floor. Strong, sturdy arms embraced him mid-flight and a warm, broad chest cushioned his impact. Like a scene from some ballet, he continued to stay airborne as he felt himself being swung around in a full circle before his feet finally touched down. And though he had already landed safely, he continued to bury his face into the welcoming chest, taking in a full breath of the intoxicating scent that drove him mad with giddiness and desire. A natural scent, devoid of the sickeningly sweet smells associated with fruits and flowers and more akin to fresh linen and warm cotton. On one hand, the almost neutral aroma comforted him and served to soothe his still shaking nerves. Yet at the same time, the fragrance incited him with excitement, for it reminded him that this was the first time he had ever been close enough to even enjoy such a sensation.

And then it occurred to him all too suddenly that the exaggerated sniffing he was doing might have been considered…well, _weird_. His panic was brief though, for he then promptly remembered that the person he had been assaulting with his nose would not mind; he knew who it was after all.  
"You alright Blaine?" the taller boy asked incredulously, his voice hinting at some amusement on his part.  
"Never better," said Blaine as he finally looked up. Mike was grinning from ear to ear.  
"I thought you said you didn't know how to dance with somebody? Because that flying leap was–" Mike let out a long whistle to emphasize his amazement at the airborne spectacle.  
"I wouldn't necessarily call being swung around like a hammer-throw, dancing." The two of them shared a chuckle before being rudely interrupted.  
"You should be thanking us!" shouted Santana from onstage.  
"For _what_?" Blaine asked huffily.  
The slender Latina smirked devilishly as she looked down on him from her perch. "You _know_ what. Besides, you _like_ pointy things up your ass. Be glad we gave you double!" Brittany and Santana both pointed at their heels before laughing. Blaine normally would've found something like that inappropriate, but the way Mike was cracking up made him let this slide. He'd get back at those two some other time; for now, he'd get his way with Mike.  
"I think the girls want us to dance…if you don't mind that is," said Blaine as he finally stepped back and out of Mike's _very_ personal space. To his surprise, the other boy stepped right back in to close the gap as he gave his trademark wink.  
"Let's _dance_ then!"

Blaine slowly made his way to the porch of his house with Mike trailing a few feet behind him. They both groaned with each step they took, their bodies sore from dancing and jumping and moshing all throughout the long night.  
"Thank God tomorrow's Sunday," said Blaine as he rested his back against the front door.  
Mike stopped at the bottom step of the porch and looked up pitifully at the slighter boy. "I have a bunch of homework to do tomorrow though."  
Blaine grimaced at the thought. "Damn it, same here." They both loudly moaned in misery before snickering at how ridiculous they sounded. Any passerby would've mistaken their noises for groaning of a more sensual nature, which seemed to delight their inner immaturity to no end. Once their laughing subsided, Blaine moved to search through his pockets for his keys while Mike walked up the last few steps, closing the distance between them to less than a few inches. By the time Blaine looked back up, Mike's face was within centimeters of his own.  
"Good night Blaine," he whispered so quietly that Blaine almost didn't hear him over the blood pulsing to his blushing ears.  
"G–good night…" Blaine said just as silently before instinctively closing his eyes. He wasn't sure what made him think that this was the right to do. He wasn't even sure if he was reading the mood right. Blaine just knew that he wanted a sweet, goodnight kiss and this was the moment for it. Ever hopeful, the slender boy gently puckered up his lips and waited in anticipation.

A few seconds passed before Blaine realized that nothing had happened, and that nothing was probably going to happen. He could feel another blush coming on as he slowly opened his eyes to see Mike's reaction. Though it was dark, and though his face was no longer within kissing distance, he could see that Mike was blushing just as furiously. The other boy had one hand scratching the back of his neck as he fidgeted in place awkwardly. It didn't take long for Blaine to conclude that he had yet again, managed to ruin everything.  
"I'm sorry Mike, I don't know what came over me." For having come out of such an embarrassing predicament, Blaine sounded surprisingly calm voice in his apology. He certainly _felt_ like crying from pure humiliation, but his tone showed no signs of it much to his relief.  
"It–it's me who should be sorry." Mike paused to inhale deeply before leaning his head back to look up at the night sky.  
"For leading me on? Because that's actually my fault for misunderstanding again."  
"For not knowing how to kiss you, I guess. I–I've never kissed a guy before."  
"It's ok Mike, I just need to stop treating you like you actually swing my way."  
"But that's not it Blaine."  
"I just misread all of tonight. I know you didn't mean to lead–"  
"Blaine."  
"And I really hope this doesn't set our friendship back–"  
"_Blaine_."  
"I don't know why I keep messing things up. If you could just forgive–"  
"_Blaine!_" It wasn't a loud enough shout to be heard by others, but it was definitely stern enough to shut Blaine up.  
"…Sorry." Blaine put his hands behind his back as he hung his head in shame. Mike couldn't help but smirk as he looked upon the boy standing before him, acting as if he was about to receive some kind of scolding.  
"What I've been trying to say is: you can show me how to, if you want."

There was a long pause before Blaine spoke up.  
"…How to what?" Mike practically fell over from the anticlimactic-ness of the question. He let out a deep breath as he mustered up the courage to explain himself.  
"How to…kiss another guy."  
Blaine kept his head bowed down as he spoke. "Do you really mean that? Or are you just saying that to humor me?"  
"What if I said that I'd _like_ for you to show me?" Mike tried to sound earnest, but in his nervousness had ended up sounding more like a plea. Just as well too, since it had convinced Blaine to look up from his withdrawn stance. Mike wasn't smiling, his usual tell-tale sign of honesty, but there was a certain hint of sincerity to his expression that convinced Blaine he wasn't lying.  
"_Is_ that what you're saying?" Blaine asked steadily as he finally dared to show a faint grin.  
"It is. But just…not on the lips yet, I'm not really ready–" Blaine cut him off by cupping his hands around Mike's face and pulling it down to meet his own. Without hesitating, he placed a tender, chaste kiss on his friend's forehead.

Although Blaine couldn't see it from his angle, he was certain that his hands could feel Mike's face break into a smile.


	11. Part of Your World

**Author's Notes: Long overdue chapter, but a variety of reasons had left me unable to update before now (e.g. real work was overwhelming, laptop with all my old chapters/drafts of future chapters got stolen, just wanted to enjoy the beauty of summer, etc). Also, the lack of reviews have been a bit disheartening, but I suppose the lack of updates on my part are to blame (it's a vicious cycle really). In any case, enjoy and feel free to review as always! Song used in this chapter is pretty self-explanatory (undoubtedly cliché, but Darren's acoustic cover is just too good not to feature...just wish he sang the verses from the reprise as well though).**

* * *

Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the mall  
Were people who bustled, carrying gifts and all  
Amidst them walked Blaine, ever pleasant and dapper  
But the shoppers all urged him, "God damn, walk faster!"

Blaine paid them no heed, no worry, and no care  
He was a shopper too, he had the right to stare  
To look at the stuff, and think "Isn't it neat?  
If I buy this bowtie my collection's complete!"

But he turned away, kept it out of his touch  
Another bowtie didn't mean all that much  
After all, he supposed, wasn't he the boy  
The boy who was sure to have everything?

He looked at all of the stores with treasures untold  
Just how many wonders can one shopping mall hold?  
Looking around here he couldn't help but think  
"Well shit...why does it feel like I'm missing something?

"_I've __got __gadgets __and __gizmos __a-plenty  
I've __got __whozits __and __whatzits __galore  
You want thingamabobs? __I've __got__ like, way more than Ariel__  
But __who __cares? __No __big __deal.__..__I __want __more_

"_I__ wanna __be __w__ith a boy who cares__  
I __wanna __see, __wanna __see __him __dancin'  
Twirlin' __around __on __those__–God they're magical__  
Feet!_

"_Being __alone __you __don't__ get too far  
__He would be perfect __for __holding,__dancing  
__Strolling__ together __down __a__–dare I hope it__?  
__Street!_

"_Out __where __we'll __walk,__ out __where__ we'll __run  
Out __where__ we'll stay all day in the __sun!  
Wanderin' __free__, __wish __I __could __be  
Part __of__ his __world_

"_What would I give if I could __live __free __to __be __with __him__?__  
What__ would I __pay __to __spend __a __day __warm__ in his arms?  
__Given the chance, we could advance  
__We would make our romance reality  
__But he's hesitatin', so I'm stuck waitin'  
__Ready __for __more!_

"_And __ready __to __know __what__ true lovers __know  
Ask__ that big __question __and __get__ some __answers, like  
What __is __love __and __why __does __it__, __what's __the __word?  
Hurt?_

"_So __when's __it__ our __turn?  
Don't __wanna __wait,__ wait to be brought together too late__  
Wish __he __could __see,__ how I should __be  
Part __of __his_–"  
"Jesus Christ Blaine, what the hell is wrong with you? You've been standing there, staring off into space for the last ten minutes!"

Blaine snapped out of his reverie, only to shift his focus to the source of the uncouth remarks. Sure enough, the words came from none other than his brother dearest, who was eying him back with equal attentiveness.  
"I'm _fine_ Cooper, I'm just a little–"  
"Nervous?" Cooper asked sarcastically. "Never would've guessed."  
Blaine glared at him with annoyance. "Yeah well, you're not exactly helping."  
"Oh I tried alright, but you were stressing yourself out from the beginning. You do know this is supposed to be a feel-good thing right? Not a panic attack."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue with his elder brother, but realized that Cooper was indeed correct. Ever since Winter Ball...hell, ever since _Thanksgiving_, Blaine had been stuck in the throes of what might be the most vexing task for any lovelorn teenager: finding the perfect Christmas gift for a crush. To say that the endeavor caused him lots of anxiety was an understatement; it was more like endless grief, constant indecisiveness, and perpetual doubt. Add to that the fact that he _still _hadn't found a present, even now after the fated holiday had come and gone, and it became more than just frustrating; it was downright humiliating.

How would he be able to explain the extent of his feelings, to convey his deepest emotions, if he couldn't even find a measly gift? Surely such a token of affection was just a simple (but necessary) first step before telling _him_, before telling _Mike_, just how much Blaine wanted him. So why then, couldn't he find a single object in the entire godforsaken mall that could successfully express how much the dancer meant to him? Were his thoughts so unique a message that retail stores hadn't yet created some amazing product to capture the sentiment? If so, then what was the point of having ridiculous sales for these gift-giving holidays? Nothing they offered seemed to come close to saying "You're the one for me," or "Please be mine," or even "I like you a lot but I'm afraid to say it out loud because you keep freaking out about it."

That was when Cooper came in. Literally. Sometime over the span of Winter Break and inbetween his endless rounds of angst, his older brother decided to come home for the holidays, thinking it best to randomly show up one day (complete with a theatrical entrance, confetti, and obnoxious fanfare). And the first thing he said when he saw Blaine?  
"So mom's been telling me about the new guy you're seeing. What're you getting him for Christmas?"  
As resentful as Blaine was about being reminded of his romantic incompetence, he willingly and quickly accepted Cooper's subsequent offer to help out. In fact, Blaine was _glad_ that Cooper offered to help; if nothing else, he could just blame his older sibling's poor taste should Mike end up not liking the gift they chose.

And that, was how the two Anderson brothers ended up at the shopping mall, on what seemed to be _the_ busiest day possible. Suffice it to say, any trace of post-Christmas bliss that Blaine may have carried over from the previous day had quickly vanished amidst the rampant pushing and jostling. If it weren't for the fact that he had finally, _finally _found a suitable present and was holding said present in hand, he might've gone berserk and decked the next person to bump into him. But alas, the weight and feel of an actual present in his hand was enough to keep him content, to subside a bit of the anxiety he'd been feeling...but only by a little bit. As it were, his brother's commentary was preventing him from basking in his well-earned relief.  
"We just spent four hours being shoved around and hustled by salespeople, just to get your boyfriend..._a book_. Seriously?" the older Anderson asked in genuine disbelief.  
"Shut up Cooper," said Blaine in a low, warning growl. "And he's not my boyfriend..."  
"I know we decided on getting him something pragmatic but sentimental...but no lie, this is kind of lame. It's no better than getting him socks. Itchy, woolly socks at that."  
"Shut up Coop, I mean it!"  
"I mean, _maybe_ I can see the appeal of it in the long run. But couldn't you have saved us both the time and effort by just ordering the damn thing off Amazon?"  
"Coop I swear to God, if you don't–"  
"Hey ain't that your lover boy over there?"

Blaine knew better than to look. Blaine knew there was no way Mike could've gotten to the mall in the 15 minutes since Blaine had texted him, telling him to come meet him there for a surprise. Blaine knew it was probably just another one of Cooper's quick-and-easy pranks, the kind which his older brother could tease him about incessantly for the next few hours. But none of that stopped Blaine from practically bending over backwards to look anyways; there was just too much instinct and wishful hoping to resist. He was immediately rewarded for it.

Out of the corner of his eyes, just a bit beyond comfortable shouting distance, bobbed a tuft of jet black hair nestled neatly inside of a navy blue parka. Said hair was also perched atop a 6' frame, that was paradoxically built, yet slender at the same time. Blaine couldn't get a good look at the face, but the way the head was scanning its periphery as if searching for someone all but confirmed who it was. There was a slight problem however: it was headed in the opposite direction, away from Blaine and towards the food court.

Without looking back or even bothering to tell Cooper where he was going, Blaine jumped forward into the throngs of people milling about. Or at least attempted to. In his mind, it seemed like the most effective way to cut through all of the shoppers separating the two of them. But the only progress he made from his sudden charge...was a couple of steps forward, before being repelled by overly enthusiastic bargain mongers. Mentally cursing Cooper's theatricality for rubbing off on him, Blaine decided to take a more logical approach: weaving in and out and through the crowds.

Weaving through the crowds, subtly sliding by big families, traipsing around the rowdy teenagers...Blaine made it all look like one elaborate dance. A fun dance at that, especially once he got in the zone and found the rhythm with which to waltz around and dodge oncoming was quite odd really, since mere moments ago he was infuriated by the sheer volume of bodies surrounding him. Yet now here he was, actually _enjoying _this little game, this dance with no one in particular. It was almost as if he could understand why Mike always had a spring in his step, why he was always so fond of busting out little dance moves at random.

Unfortunately, his good mood didn't last very long. Try as he might to keep an eye out for Mike, it was inevitable that he would eventually lose track of him...and at the entrance to the massive, overly crowded food court no less. Blaine grumbled to himself as he considered the possibility of entering into the war zone in front of him, but the prospect of combating food-laden customers was several levels of difficulty higher than the little game he had just finished. Plus, there was no way he was going to risk an accidental spill or food stain all over Mike's book. Not after all the effort and worrying and anxiety and grief and irritation and...no, not after all he just went through.

Blaine pulled out his phone and typed out a text with lightning precision (why he didn't think to do this in the first place, he had no idea), telling Mike to come meet him at the railing just outside of the food court. Seconds went by with no sign of Mike, so Blaine decided to send a courtesy reminder. Minutes went by with still no sign of Mike, so Blaine decided to send him another, more firmly worded reminder. Several _more_ minutes went by with _absolutely_ no sign of Mike, so Blaine decided to send him one final reminder, which at that point practically meant/read as "Where are you, why are you taking so long, I'm getting anxious, are you ignoring me, please don't ignore me, I kind of hate you for making me wait but I really don't, etc."

He had half the mind to call him right then and there (again, not sure why he didn't think to do that in the first place). But he assumed, or rather he hoped, that Mike had a good reason for not replying to his texts. It's not like Mike had any reason to be mad at him and ignore him today of all days. That, and they had been exchanging ever so cordial texts all break long (albeit a bit too friend-zone status for his liking), so it couldn't have been an issue with his phone either.

That left one very real and big possibility: Mike was shopping for _his _gift. Why else would he not be responding (...besides the fact that he was already a naturally quiet person)? Moreover, he was probably as embarrassed as Blaine was about getting a gift so last minute. If that were truly the case, Blaine didn't mind the absence of replies; he could sympathize with the feeling after all. And so he resigned himself to waiting, and doing what he always did to pass time: sing.

_What would I give to live where you are?  
__What would I pay to stay here beside you?  
__What would I do to see you smiling at me?_

Blaine looked around to make sure that his singing wasn't attracting unwanted attention. In reality, he didn't need to. No one could've heard him over the hum of voices all around him. His voice was too soft and quiet, almost pleadingly so. But how could it not be? How could he sound anything but gentle and full of want? The words he sang weren't a celebration of passion. Rather, the lyrics described everything he was feeling in the sincerest and purest way. They conveyed the rawest of his emotions, his most basal wishes and desires. Above all else, they carried the full weight of his longing, subtle yet more real than ever before.

He had fallen completely, thoroughly, so utterly "head over heels" for Mike in every sense of the expression, that he wasn't even embarrassed to admit it. Let Cooper tease all he wanted, there was no sense in denying the truth in the first place. After all, if there's one thing he'd learned from watching all those Disney movies, it was that it's OK to be honest about wanting something so unbearably bad. Also, that it was apparently OK to vocalize that want in song-form. And so Blaine continued to sing, daring to sound the tiniest bit more earnest than before.

_Where would we walk?  
__Where would we run?  
__If we could stay all day in the sun?  
__Just you and me, and I could be  
__Part of your world_

"You know," a voice called out to Blaine from behind him, causing him to visibly jump. "I don't think I've ever heard that part of the song before. Did you make up those lyrics or something?"  
Blaine immediately spun around from the railing he had been leaning against, though his mind seemed to lag a step behind. "M–Mike!" he said with a slight stutter, like it had actually taken him that long to register whose face he was looking at.  
Mike's face brightened, as if he enjoyed seeing how nervous Blaine was. "Yes?"  
"I uh–well I mean it's, the song that is, it's definitely from the movie," Blaine said as his brain slowly began to recover from the initial surprise. "It's from the scene after the storm, after Ariel rescues Eric and brings him to shore and..." Blaine let his explanation trail off as he suddenly realized how awkward talking about the scene was, in this given context. Unfortunately, Mike didn't seem to get the hint.  
"Oh you're right! Wasn't he still unconscious? And she's kind of just staring at him...and singing to him...and yeah..." It was Mike's turn to let his voice trail off, as he too realized how awkward it was, letting the silence hang in the air between them.

It was during that time that Blaine got to take a closer look at what Mike was wearing: a plain black peacoat, generously unbuttoned near the top to reveal long stretches of his bare neck. But as stylish and attractive as the Asian may have looked, Blaine couldn't help but wonder about what had happened to the navy blue parka from earlier.  
"Did you...did you just get here?" Blaine asked cautiously, no longer wanting to assume anything.  
"Actually, yeah I did," Mike admitted with a sheepish grin. "Sorry I didn't reply to all your texts, it was a bitch driving in traffic and the parking was god-awful." Blaine mentally face-palmed as he realized that he had probably been following some random stranger earlier. He didn't have long to wallow in his mistake though, as his focus was drawn back to the taller boy and how he was pulling a plain white gift box out of a shopping bag he had brought along.  
"I got you a present," Mike said matter-of-factly, though his fidgeting and shaky hands seemed to belie his apparent neutrality. Blaine couldn't help but break into a smile as he quickly stuffed Mike's book into his coat.  
"Should I open it now?" Blaine asked as he accepted the gift, and playfully shook it while pretending to listen for sounds from within. Mike nodded eagerly, almost childishly, and watched intently as the shorter boy opened the gift.

Blaine wasn't sure what he was expecting. It could have been anything really, though he wouldn't have been too surprised to find a sweater vest or perhaps a cardigan. What he _did_ find inside the box, was a familiar-looking piece of fabric that had been folded ever so neatly. It felt cool to the touch, the mesh material being softer than he had ever imagined. It flowed smoothly through his fingers, giving it a pleasant velvety sensation. It even shone brightly in his hands, its color as red and vibrant as the first time he ever laid eyes on it. It was the one thing that Blaine would have never expected, yet made so much sense in retrospect. It was Mike's football jersey, adorned with his personal number, 22.

"It's a tradition to give your jersey to someone special to you," Mike started to explain rapidly, afraid that Blaine wouldn't understand the intent of his gift. "I was going to give it to my mother, but I...I kept thinking of you."  
Blaine was smiling much too hard to be able to form coherent words with his mouth. "Mike, I can't even–"  
"Don't worry, I washed it," Mike cut in nervously. "Thoroughly. Twice actually. It doesn't even smell or have clumps of mud in it."  
"No I know Mike, it's perfect–"  
"You don't have to wear it right now, or ever if you don't want to," said Mike apologetically. "I just, I just really wanted you to have it."  
"I understand Mike, it's really–"  
"AndIgotyouanothergift," Mike blurted out finally.

As Mike's hands scrambled into his bag to procure a second, much smaller box, Blaine found himself struggling to maintain his composure. Every part of his body was practically begging him to launch himself at the taller boy, to latch onto Mike and hug him so tightly that even his God-given biceps wouldn't be able to break him free. It literally took every ounce of the younger boy's restraint to stay still enough to receive the next gift, open it graciously, and inspect the contents. This time, he found a bowtie inside, a crimson red one, that _felt_ and _looked_ suspiciously familiar.  
"Mike, is this...?" Blaine started to ask as he shot a questioning glance back at the first box.  
The older teen nodded in understanding. "I made that from my old jersey, back when I was #28. Or well, what used to be that jersey...not much left of it now, considering how many times I messed up making this," he said as he sheepishly gestured at the bowtie. "You might have to touch it up yourself too. Some of the threads will probably come loose, and I think I may have messed up one of the corners, and...and...and you look _so_ damn dapper right now."  
Blaine smirked as he finished tying the bowtie around his collar with a firm tug. "Thank you Michael. For everything."

It was as if the sudden lull in their conversation became the unspoken cue for Blaine's turn to give his gift. The problem? He didn't even want to give the gift anymore. How could a book he had _just_ bought earlier today compare to Mike's not one, but _two_gifts? Not just unoriginal, but how half-assed would that look?  
"I wonder if I get a present..." Mike pondered innocently, though the anticipation in his voice betrayed his unassuming remark. Blaine let out a heavy sigh as he nodded and reluctantly pulled the book out of his coat.  
"Merry Christmas," Blaine murmured softly, almost ashamedly, as he handed Mike the little novella.  
"_The Little Prince_, by Antoine de _Saint_-Exupéry...is this a children's book?"  
"Well, yes and no. It looks like it is, but I think it could help you with the supplementary materials for some of your college applications...maybe like help keep things in perspective?" Blaine hoped his 'synopsis' would've sufficed, but from the curious look on Mike's face, he had the feeling that it hadn't. "I don't really know how to explain it, but I think you'll get what I mean once you read the book."  
Mike gave him the longest blank stare before asking him, "Are you trying to tell me that you want to be called 'Little Prince' from now on?" He quickly smiled to show he was teasing. Blaine couldn't help but grin back.  
"Now where'd you even get that idea?" Blaine asked with a chuckle, as he proceeded to point at the color illustration on the cover of the novel. "I mean, do I look blond to you?"

Before Blaine could even react, Mike leaned in agonizingly close, to the point his breath was tickling the shorter boy's ear. "No, but...right now you kind of look like a prince to me." And that was all it took to render the younger boy speechless. Blushing, but nonetheless speechless. Mike was faring no better himself, as he too began to blush when he realized just how unintentionally intimate he had been.  
"T–then again," said Mike, looking for a way to ease the tension. "I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter how you 'look.' Eyes are 'blind' after all..."  
Blaine's eyebrows shot up at hearing the vaguely familiar words. "You–you've already read this haven't you!"  
"Would you look at the time?" Mike asked as he tried to change the topic while playfully pointing at an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Got to go meet with family now, but let's do something once I'm done with all my apps next week!"

The next few seconds felt utterly surreal to Blaine. He knew he heard Mike thanking him for the present. He knew he heard Mike wishing him a Merry Christmas. He knew he heard Mike saying goodbye and turn around to leave. He knew he should say goodbye too, but the words he heard being spoken next were definitely not of his own volition...yet his ears registered the voice as none other than his own. But how was that possible? Never in his wildest dreams, not even with multiple shots of adrenaline and dopamine and whatever other hormonal crack out there, would he ever have enough 'balls' to make the suggestion he heard being uttered from his own lips.  
"Let's get dinner next week."  
Mike stopped in his tracks to look back at the junior in surprise. He cocked his right eyebrow questioningly, as if saying to Blaine, "Go on?"  
"L–let's get dinner to celebrate everyone being done with college apps."  
"Blaine, you don't have to do that," Mike said reassuringly. "It's not that big of a deal."  
"T–then think of it as a part two to my Christmas gift!" Blaine had no idea where he was getting the gall to openly tease the older teen, especially at a moment like this. But much to his relief, Mike only chuckled in response, as if recognizing the friendly jab to be in good taste.  
"Alright, let's plan on dinner then."

Blaine was left waving dumbly as he watched senior walk away. Part of him was still in shock at how he had just managed to ask Mike out on a date, totally on a whim. The other part, the part that was in even greater shock, was just relieved at how his friend had agreed to the date so easily. No excuses, no awkward silence, no hesitation whatsoever. If this wasn't a sign of things starting to look up, then Blaine didn't know what it was. Not that it mattered right then and there though. He was too busy reveling in a bout of sudden giddiness and glee. Everything just seemed so much happier now, like the shoppers were kinder, the vendors more joyful, the colors were brighter, and the weather more beautiful... Even Cooper, who was just now reappearing (Blaine remotely remembered seeing him disappear a while back, probably to give his sibling some privacy) seemed to be in a better mood than before. Feeling inspired, and confident that everyone around him was as suddenly ecstatic as he was, Blaine decided that no one would mind if he partook in one last little bit of song. That, and he just needed to let everyone know how damn good he felt.

_I don't know when  
__I don't know how  
__But I know something's starting right now!  
__Watch and you'll see, someday I'll be  
__Part of your–  
_"Oh for the love of God, when do you _not_ sing Blaine?"  
"Shut the hell up Coop, why do you always have to be such a _douche _and ruin the moment_?_ God!"

* * *

**Author's Notes: One episode of Cooper wasn't much for me to work off of, so I decided to write him as a semi-typical douchey big brother. As a side note, be on the lookout for a side project I've got in the works (Mike-centric with slash of an undetermined nature for now).**


End file.
